Cosmos

Sunday night

walking down Christopher Street,

rolling a cigarette

    (no filter, all out)

and feeling like

Everything

is okay again,

because these streets under your feet,

this air in your lungs,

a group of kids

    twerking

    and laughing

the air of the subway

    like a slap in the face

and Morton Street quiet

    sweet like a serenade

they are why you came back

they are worth

    your every sad

        separation

and tear

over what you have left behind

They are worth leaving his breathless

    skin

You forget you ever doubted

a hundred nights

a thousand sad miles away

a million other ways your life

    could have gone

but didn't 

because your limbs knew

    (your heart, your gut, your lungs)

that this was the only place

that could only

ever

make you Want

for Nothing

(and it is.)