We walked along route seventy-three, a
little past two o'clock in the morning.
The lamps and billboards gave a gleaming light,
and you shined like a newly polished dime.

Bushmills ran through my bloodstream, spreading warmth
out to the tips of my fingers and toes.
We danced under the streetlights, giggling
like school kids (which I guess is what we were).

We laid down in the traffic island grass,
and looked up the night-sky, black as coal.
I felt an unmatched sense of affection,
as two pulses synced up beneath the stars.