This Is Not Life

This is not the life passing you by,
it’s the city, breathing,
a light in the park burning
bright through my window

Burning bright, she’s wearing those stockings again

The metaphysical art of her
legs inhaling our asymmetric love
and she’s not paid to understand,
and her arms to hold my weight,
and love is always asymmetric

Burning bright, I heard her footsteps exhale

That was the night my handwriting changed