Maybe one day
I'll get a real life
And a real job
And a house
That's real nice
And a beautiful
Real wife
And I'll care about politics
And popular affairs
And I'll drive an American car
With less than 50k.
I guess I want that, someday.

But for now all I want
Is to lay on this blanket
On these blades of grass
Under this maple tree
With you, in central park,
And count the red cars that go by
While you count the blue
And hear the dogs barking
And the kids screaming
****** ****** sounding fun
And feel your head on my shoulder
Your arm across my chest
Your leg over mine
Your hair tickling
My neck, my nose, my cheek
Your Lola perfume filling my head.

For now I'm fine with this.
I'll worry about
Houses and cars
And wives and presidential
Hopefuls
When my checks are cached
And my heart has grown
Cold with age
And NYC is a memory.