I'm always racing, chasing—then swaying and spacing,
Barely bracing, then I’m slipping, dipping, misplacing.

The world keeps pressing, the pressure's unceasing,
Voices all blending, no pause, no releasing.

But when night pulls the curtain and time starts *******,
I pour something smooth—let go of the stressing.

In the hush of the dark, where the touch feels true
That’s when my heart, it skips for you.