my new york city boyfriend

has a metro pass but teaches me
how to jump the turnstyles.
makes me feel like a backpack
slung over his one shoulder.
there are skyscrapers in his closet
& he tells me we can take it slow.
in his mind, "slow" means
we will get married by midnight
& in the cool morning we will be
nothing but a noted subway stop.
car horns live in his eyes.
he holds my hand & walks 
like a metronome. wind tunnel buildings.
pigeons roosting on his shoulders.
he feeds stray poets & birds.
plants a tree in his living room 
to "reconnect with nature."
on a street corner he confesses
"there is a bookshop in your teeth."
i turn a new page. on the train
we do not sit side by side but rather
across from each other. he says
he's sketching a museum of me
in his head. i have always wanted
to appear how i do with him, as if my life
is both effortless & haphazard.
the grime of the subway station
asks too many questions like
"what does it mean to be temporary?"
& "how long should you pause?"
he gives me a stoplight necklace.
red red red. i struggle with the desire
to stand still in every rush of legs.
in the village, we are truly lovers.
i kiss him like catastrophe
& he drinks an espresso 
in one gulp. walks ahead of me.
looses a wallet & says
"oh well." the moon doesn't arrive
like my lunar phases app
said it should. he says,
"don't worry i'm the moon now."
neither of us glow. his windows
have no blinds so we become
moving portraits for whatever finds us.
as i knew it would, morning comes
& his apartment is another apartment.
mine is a box on the street corner.
i have learned so well how to be 
ready to go. find a skyscraper 
in my pocket. this is how i know
he still thinks of me.