Remembering the New York slice and old phone booths 
I think of happier times when love’s true sentiment governed our hearts 
By certain pains we knew or even wanted-that slice with you and heartbreak later
Love’s secreted conversations hidden in old phone booths grew our frustration 
Though proximity is what we wanted, perhaps more than love, wasn’t it? 
Yes, proximity not love, still this absence has created a strange longing 
Where lorn the constant touch we knew, I don’t feel lonely in the desert 
Lonely sad cries do not eat at my breasts, only your joy’s memory
Always with me, and showing me repeatedly, how to be without you 
Old booths and freedom’s time taught me I could 
I recline into the wash of certain friendships, the bottles of red remedy
You now owning newly discovered strength and voice 
The shifting dream you willow into me, the chill before my goosebumps 
You’ll blow tender on me to cool my blood