Belt Parkway

More than all the sunlight
on my head, more than a field
of greens, butter on toast, more
than all the music on my macbook,
more than the smoothie with coconut water, more
than the lady bugs in a jar in the refrigerator,
more than my flower collages, more than the faces
I see at night in the dark, more than the place I kiss
on your neck right below your ear,
more than light itself, and laughter, more than
the words I write on your back with my fingers
before the day ends, more than
riding my silver bike home at midnight
through the vast metallic prairie of Brooklyn,
more than dissolving on a Saturday,
more than your arms, the chlorinated pool,
the children laughing under a sprinkler
next to the East River, more than the smell
of sandalwood or amber or you, more than
the layers of my history I can't lift away,
more than anything, more than me, more
than the smiles on the faces of the ones I love most.