One morning with a tired mind,
I aimlessly stared into my coffee,
eyeing the cream as it swirled in circles,
and it reminded me of the time we danced
in your kitchen at two in the morning,
and you pulled me into your arms so close
that I could smell the whiskey on your breath.
The world passed by around us in pirouettes
of blurry madness and drunken bliss.
Sometimes it makes me wonder why
the rain on my window pane doesn’t echo the
words you last said to me while we stood alone.