The sky is pink,
fading to blue as the slowly rising sun
illuminates winter clouds that hang,
stationary over the city.
Slow jazz floats through the air,
hanging with a smooth viscosity
that reminds me, oddly, of you.
You, drunk, slow,
sitting with your legs swung over the arms of that
your silly smile slowly stretching into a smirk that would make the Cheshire
as I tip the whiskey bottle again
and take a long drink.
And we stayed like that,
sipping whiskey straight from the bottle,
watching the sky change until the dark was gone
and I could sleep.