You are my West Side Serenade, you are my something else.
You are my in-between, my quiet glean,
my just-before-I-wake part of the dream.
All I’ve ever wanted, I told you, was to dream,
and to live deep and barely sleep and feel every single thing.
With you, I feel every single thing.
With you, I feel something else.
But you know what is said about feelings –
always changing with the wind.
We taught each other that, didn’t we?
About feelings and about changing,
about Bryant Park and Romance and brown-bagged Champagne
and seeing through your own to see another’s pain.
I wonder, sometimes, if there could be anything else worth learning of
than two souls caught on fire.
I wonder, sometimes, that we should be so lucky –
that the pain itself is pleasure enough
because we feel it.