We drank Irish coffee to keep the cold outside.
Bundled to our noses in our blankets,
We sat on the couch, sharing stories of our youth -
When we were young,
When we were indestructible,
When we had the world by the balls.

The phone ringer was off
The doorbell disconected
The only distraction was the tasty jolt of caffeine.

I met her at the Church of Barmixology -
She experienced the magnificent enlightenment of absinthe
While I extolled the praises of tequila.

That night, I later found out, we both worshipped the porcelain god on different ends of the street.

And here we were, weeks later, listening to Bob Dylan on vinyl.
Each pop, each scratch, prodding memories -
Memories to share.
Memories to hear.
Memories to make.

She left at 2pm as the sun appeared and warmed the house,
Melting snow from the roof, dripping from icicles.
As she stepped out the door to walk the six driveways to her house,
I felt as if we were on the verge of something amazing.

I just got off the phone with her -
I finally got up the nerve to ask her out.
She agreed, telling me that the other day,
As she stepped out the door to walk the six driveways to her house,
She felt as if we were on the verge of something amazing.