Quickie in Brooklyn: A Ballet

Last night I made it to heaven,/ crossed the East River with pockets full/ of lust and listlessness. Your eyes met mine/ under the pink universe, around us/ obsolete railroads and drugged-up dreamers,/ forlorn girls weeping over fire escapes./ Every time I leave NYC I remember/ why I came in the first place./ Train-ride strangers, glitter, glaze, unfazed/ nights, alive, cherry blossoms falling over/ sleeping vagabonds, breakdancing boys/ and ballerinas at the Lincoln./ They reminded me of/ your skin, a flustered jeté/ soaring across my body. It happened so quickly/ didn’t it? You were a fleeting leap, and I/ not much more than a brush-up with the bustle,/ come together in a Bushwick pas de deux./ I could be anyone (so could you)./ Childhoods smeared over with/ wet cement, days broken into tiny pieces./ We will always be two obliterated people/ trying to reassemble themselves in the city./ Always catching another train, shuffling through/ another avenue, resisting the urge to jump/ off the Brooklyn Bridge./ But I know why I came here, and in you/ I found another fragment of the body/ I continue to dance for.

René Bennett is a writer and morose queer based in New York City. You might stumble into him at a plant nursery or on his Instagram, @nativityobscene.