Eyelids heavy on the I-30,
You kissed my hand and told me you loved me.
Not a soul on the road, just you, me and Biggie,
Looking at the sunrise you said, “Isn’t she pretty?”

At a bar near Grand Central Station,
Free flowing alcohol and conversation.
The steady sound of champagne glasses clinking,
In celebration of new beginnings.
Strangers drunkenly exchanging digits,
With the hope of a quick backdoor exit.

Is it a place that people visit?
A desert with a watering hole in it.
Is it a person that you adore?
Making you laugh till your ribs are sore.