urbs vivit

I do not breathe the city, I consume
         Absorbing every flavour and colour into myself.

Even below the ground, the city breathes a constant sigh
         of stress, and balance, and motion, and rest, and callous love.

She blows back my hair, and dust into my eyes, and forces herself down my throat -
         assimilation, consummation.

She, sprawling wide, breathing deeply, pulsing, beating, sleeping and waking
Grime worn and tattooed into the skin, and into the air, and into her moving parts
That dart and weave and crawl between her outbursts of frozen music.