To love your lover as you love your city;
To move along the sutures of her streets
At noon, and touch the swaying palm, her body.
This spot at which her cheek and temple meet.
A smoldering of herbs is wafting from
The kitchen of her mind—paprika, chives
And marijuana drifting slow and mum
Through chain-link fence and up the gated drives
To vex the noses of police and dogs.
And always still there's all this love like glue
Between your bones, your bricks. And when she sobs,
Within your woman there are neighbors who
Never come to the door, who peek from windows
To spy your face, and whip the curtains closed.