我❤️纽约

Take me down to Chinatown,

steam curling from dumpling carts,

the scent of star anise and ginger

mingling with the crisp spring air.

Long black hair swings past—

swagger in every step,

confidence in every glance—

every line, moving with grace—

arriving at once—

fire in the turn,

a smile.

Vendors calling,

woks flaring—

lines forming—

and still,

she moves through it all.

The chatter breaks through the air:

“哇，她太火啦，真让人受不了！”

someone murmurs,

caught off guard by her heat.

Heads turn.

Eyes linger—

a second too long.

“I need more water, bro,”

someone mutters.

And just like that,

the moment slips—

steam and spice lingering—

yeah…

nice.

“Oye, guapa—¡tu número!”

Author’s Note

A moment in Chinatown—seen, felt, and gone.