I remember your green eyes, 

and the way I stood on my tipytoes to kiss you,

One hand on the small of my back, the other cupping my cheek.

That was in your kitchen.

 

I remember that night at Central Park, 

And the way you kissed me after not seeing me for three weeks, tender but urgent.

 

The East side of New York City holds a lot of memories for me of this past summer.

Sometimes, I think, if I were to walk on 23rd street again, would I still find my way back to you?

Sometimes, I think, one day we'll randomly see each again, maybe on Astor Place, or 14th street.

And maybe, we'll give each other another chance.