To the Boy On the L-Train by Cynthia Bonitz

I saw a boy on the subway with green eyes from somewhere else,
with bones from another sea, with thoughts he wouldn’t take responsibility for.
I wondered his smell—the gritty smell of a person—
old clothes, underwear, hair that’s gone unwashed.
I wanted to scurry into his nooks, his bad behavior, his guilt,
and revel in un-birthed romance, the kind before the plunge,
when everything is hot and clean and imaginary.
I wanted all of him, devoured in a watery English accent,
pushed against a wall, my juices on his face,
hands like missiles in war.
And all the rest, yes God, to scour adrenaline, to never return to the same place.


Cynthia Bonitz lives in Brooklyn and is currently working on a memoir about studying in Prague and traveling Europe.