Vintage Melodies

Pour me a simple whiskey and water
I'll sip it slowly
while we banter.
A little jazz
or acoustic indie
is the perfect
background soundtrack.

Me in that little black
cocktail dress--
the one that brushes my knees;
I'll have a cigarette in one hand
highball glass in the other.
You wear those jeans
a black band tee
and your fedora.

Baby, we'll sit at the bar
then talk to the stars
that freckle the perfect
ball point ink sky
as we walk down the pavement
your fingers twined with mine.

Back to your place
put on a pot of coffee;
we won't wait until it's done brewing.
Your lips drift to mine
raspberry on strawberry.
My fingers find your hair.
I'm home.
I'm home.
I'm home.
Because you're there.