Manhattan Love

The power,    the play,     the copy,    the game
I’m the marketer      of your heart
You gave     cold hard copy
Pressed guarantee against fresh lips

Safe sell, safe bet, proven story
Baby, save me, wrong edit,  (I punctuated this unfittingly)
I scripted these lines too cruelly
I believed my own copy, own story

Marketer, Marketer, it’s Me! Hello cayenne, hello strange heart
Cinnamon lips, coffee in Manhattan’s Central park
I’m the best, world class Where are you, Where are you?
There you go, I remember, I sold you.
I’m a marketer, marketer of your heart
And this, Manhattan,   Manhattan love

The power,   the play,   the copy,   the game
You gave nothing, I accepted each unwell written story
I’m a marketer, imagination VIVACIOUS
fingers stealing lines that weren’t fit for my pride
Keep smoking that cig ar ette, igniting your power stride-so becoming
Drink another Gin it’s noon, 1960. And this,
Manhattan,   Manhattan love

The power,  the play, the copy, the game
I’m the marketer    of your heart
all is fair in my love, in your war
I pull concepts— every syllable of your quick lips becomes new fame, new story
—my glory.

Cinnamon, cayenne, failing slowly
The train she passed, run catch her, can you?
No, I sold you. I’m the marketer the marketer
Of your cold hard heart
La   La   La
It’s trendy it’s beating, it’s modern it’s selling
Cheers to love, cheers to selling, cheers to creating, manipulating
I’m a marketer, I sold you so well, how will you re-pay me?
La    La   La
baby no, this is Manhattan, this is cold.
I’m the best in the world, yep I said it— beat that, sell that line,
you can’t,  I’m the marketer baby, and you can’t sell me.
Take that brat. I’ll toss you a toy for your little boy joys
I’m out, I’m dancing, I’m selling, I’m winning
this is Manhattan, Manhattan love
I’m dancing in the streets of gold
Are you still strolling behind dawdling?
I thought you wanted the WIN, I thought it’s all you wanted…

the fame, the glory, the power walk, the suit.

I’m dancing in the gold street, but I don’t see you
I’m building a Treehouse in grand central station
Moneys falling, Free for all doers of their dreams
I’m spinning remembering

The power,    the play,    the copy,   the game
Manhattan, Manhattan love—cinnamon tasteless, cayenne cold
Edit, edit, erase, retake, re-phrase….New copy, new heart, new sell scheme, new story…
This is me marketing, this is me selling off your cold hard story
But remember, it’s 1960
and this
This is Manhattan, Manhattan love.

Can I see you later on?

Yes,   kiss me,   I’m on 42nd Street  wasting
rewind, remind, cayenne, cloves—  kiss hard I won’t say no

no rules, this is Manhattan,
Nothing scares me anymore
in my love,    in your war
and this

The power,    the play,    the copy,    the game
in my Manhattan,    Manhattan love.

***This is a re-post, of a favorite past post.