Yes, yes.

That’s the song.

Fix me a drink, love,

and let’s dance

like we did

in the vecchia’s apartment

when it was all

Paolo Conte

and wonderful

and awful;

limes

and vodka;

when New York grew

too small

and the world

there

and scary.

Come, love.

I can’t breathe.

Dance us away.

That’s it.

It’s wonderful.

Yes, yes, yes.

I still dream of you.