perhaps it's your perfume that reminds me of new york
but london smells like america tonight -
candy flossed and codeine scented.
below, the pizzeria's late night orders
float through the window and the rain,
wine stained and garlicy,
as another summer sets.
there is no autumn, just the fall
and a sad face full of smiles.
through the wall, next door's television
blares muffled lives into our limbs entwined
and beneath the sheets the coffee on your breath is death -
raw morning nerves and cigarettes,
the sticky sickly salt sweet sweat
of missing love and hard times debt,
a life of work and fading dreams
like dirty shirts that always go unironed.
and though i swear i thought i smelled you twice today
i know i'm wrong. that's just a song -
america is gone and the new york streets are far too far away.