I fill them up, too full in my flask
                         the lid falls off,
on the dance floor no less
I take it with me still, the morning after
while the mimosas are out
I let it drive me,
the windows rolled down
unbothered by the way the sun stares
that February night
wasn't cold at all
                     i spilled in the kitchen
and that July
in red hallways
                    it stained the carpet
but you place it back
in my threadbare hands
and don't scold me on the train
you say "sip up" and remember,
that's whiskey.