Even as I’m spent and weathered and worn, your touch makes me feel newfound, reborn.

Baby, slide in deep and ease me
into the blushed morning.

I confess.
This is my kind of travel selfie.

I wonder if you’ll ever know the depth, the breadth, the force of my yearning for your touch at first light.

Let’s take a bite, let’s leave our mark
on the craving flesh of this city, on every inch
of the glass in this room floating high over the Hudson.