I drowned my pages in letters and words,
under trees found behind museums hidden in parks,
near rocks, under stars that were hidden by daylight,
in a touch shared by lovers holding hands in sight,
through flower gardens and wings of birds taking flight.

I drowned my pages in letters and words,
in sleepless nights and twisted lullabies,
on strangers faces as they stroll down the street,
crunched up and thrown out on old receipts,
under the blazing sun in the summer heat.

And so New York made me a coffee drinker,
so that I wouldn't miss a step,
looking for letters and words to drown my pages in,
losing sleep from thoughts that need to be written,
over people who have hurt me and need to be forgotten,
and others who are loving and always have been genuine.