Answer
|
Twisting
|
around
|
on
|
blue
|
leather
|
booth
|
My
|
ears
|
still
|
popping
|
from
|
travel
|
and
|
use
|
I
|
picked
|
at
|
my
|
oatmeal
|
and
|
plumped
|
up
|
|
Answer
|
my
|
lips
|
He
|
gives
|
his
|
hand
|
a
|
suggestion,
|
wish
|
It's
|
not
|
you,
|
it's
|
New
|
York
|
I
|
miss
|
I've
|
got
|
a
|
problem
|
I
|
|
Answer
|
think
|
he
|
could
|
fix
|
He
|
seems
|
to
|
undo
|
all
|
my
|
usual
|
tricks
|
But
|
the
|
marks
|
on
|
his
|
belly,
|
the
|
lines
|
I
|
trace
|
|
Answer
|
Shadow
|
softness
|
and
|
romantic
|
grace
|
|
not
|
you,
|
it's
|
New
|
York
|
I
|
face
|
I
|
dreamt
|
of
|
him
|
on
|
a
|
JetBlue
|
flight
|
|
Answer
|
Nursing
|
me
|
into
|
a
|
feverish
|
night
|
Lay
|
on
|
my
|
back,
|
whispering
|
his
|
name
|
Letting
|
him
|
unravel
|
a
|
decade
|
of
|
blame
|
It's
|
|
Answer
|
not
|
you,
|
it's
|
New
|
York
|
I
|
claim
|
Well,
|
in
|
a
|
thunder
|
breath,
|
I
|
coughed
|
up
|
my
|
heart
|
My
|
life
|
in
|
my
|
|
Answer
|
hands,
|
a
|
good
|
place
|
to
|
start
|
Little
|
creature
|
born
|
of
|
joy
|
and
|
mirth
|
Loving
|
without
|
the
|
help
|
|
anything
|
Little
|
creature
|
|
Answer
|
born
|
of
|
joy
|
and
|
mirth
|
Loving
|
without
|
the
|
help
|
of
|
anything
|
On
|
earth
|
It's
|
not
|
you,
|
it's
|
New
|
York
|
that
|
works
|
|