The foam floats in her glass lookin’ like a ***** snowflake

     Her fingerprints still in the frost


No matter what any sober person tells you

     No two lips are the same


No two dances on dimly lit dance floors

     The scuff marks scatter in so many directions


Even the music is a remix

     Of something that could have been perfect


Even if it’s the same bar over and over

     My memory the next morning is foggy


Even the warm spots on the other side of the bed

     Change shape like crop circles


If you ever stayed long enough

     To try my French toast


You’d see how the swirls look like galaxies

     And the thought of spinning might make you miss the flavor


But I know what perfect feels like

     Through so many filters


And every night now is a remix

     Of something that could have been perfect