you’re a lot like the second shot of whiskey,
warm, burning, has anyone told you that your hands
they are are firecrackers, taking off into the night?
and i’m a lot like coming down from the high
and the thought that you and i somehow
ended up in the same universe was the only thing
helping me fall asleep peacefully in my own sheets

but the moon has said goodbye to me,
and the sun comes up to welcome you another day
and i am burning my tongue on my coffee,
desperately hoping you'll text me