I grew up in Northern Virginia,
Reading the Washington Post,
Dreaming about a place called Blues Alley,
In Georgetown,
Imagined drinking a ***** K-One ***** Martini, neat,
and smoking Camel non-filters,
Listening to a sultry, ****, singer,
Holding onto your hand,
Like we accidentally walked into an ***** den,
After,
We’d stroll down M Street,
Looking for a cup of coffee,
So I could continue to be with you,
To afraid to kiss you,
To afraid to ask you to spend the rest of the night/morning,
To afraid to say good-bye,
To afraid you’d never come back,
To afraid it was really a dream.