It is late. Time is slipping still
Right through my fingers.
Hard against my will
This taste of liquor lingers,
Urging me to take a drink and
Lose myself. But then I find
His fingertips gently brush hands
When his soul is absent from mind.
In a free fall, he sees
What I know. The whisky illuminates
The path between the trees,
The path we walked in many states-

I stood on his toes
And we danced.