under the table and dreaming

Dear New York City,

Don't let me go until you say so.

Very truly, 

Your wide-eyed, 

rubber-necking,

forever faithful, 

front-seat passenger. 

my belated

Hey now, it'll sting only for a little while.

Take your kite out and let it dance.

But only for a little while.

So wrap our injured flesh around you
Breathe our air and walk our sod
Rob our sin and make us holy
Perfect Son of God.