Its a city that changes but i refuse to let it. I hold in my mind, not frozen but hot like a Guyanese Pepperpot, stewing, hot, flavor melting more and more into one, with spice and a watchful eye. The Pepperpot never ends, new meats added sitting next to a piece that was there from day one.
Its my New York that I love, no one else's. Eight million stories in the naked city and I chose mine. She knows me well, that city. I as naked as she. Both afraid of what we see.
She once New Amsterdam, made a whore of me. Bitten from, like Africa after slavery.
That's our problem, history, pain, perspective, things that dont change like a stuborn bitch!
They say you can leave and return to find most things where you left them. Some things had changed. I ignored some of them.
Its a place a mark is always being made. So what of yours? I miss mine. That's another thing, she spoils you on meaningless treats feed your ego and eat your soul. I could be wrong. It could be the other way around.
But yeah, my muse is there now. I am here, lost for a way to get there.
Its so selfish of me to say muse, what I mean is I love you. New York.