He is an open sore
Hopeless romantic
A blister that burns burgundy
A stalemate of statistics
Gathered blind in a
Swarming rage undercurrent

She is an inspiring
Inhale breath with
Intoxicated integrity
A baby bird at the bar
Waiting for her feathers
To be felt in between his fingertips

He buys her a drink
A liquor love potion that won't work
An ethanol elixir that will
Only serve to
Even out her inhibitions and
Cloud the memory of
His hands taking flight

She takes shots one after another
As he feeds her them like bullets
Drunken target practice
Waiting for the one where
He hits the mark
That spot right next to her heart

He knows it's only a matter of time
A recipe of patience and
A fresh paycheck
As he checks his watch
Wishing the time would tick
Faster and closer to two

Forcing them outside into the night
They fly
Leaving the bar behind
They fly

He takes her hand and
Puts her head against his chest
Cradling her
The baby bird
In his raven grasp
Taking off
Taking her
They fly