It was 2:30 am on some street in
downtown Pittsburgh
And we had just come out the back door
of a tiny punk bar.
I was definitely under-dressed for a
cold winter night in September,
And you were too drunk to drive.
I held your keys in my hand, feeling
their weight in my fingers.
Your key chain said “too young to
die” and I hoped that were true.
You were staring at me, a half grin on
your face,
That I didn't particularly like much.
I wondered how I looked to you.
You in your band tee-shirt and sleepy
blue eyes,
Blonde hair falling, creating a frame …
you are beautiful.
It was an old cliché, but I never
loved anyone more.
We were on the verge of a screaming
battle
I could feel it on the wind like a
whisper of a bad omen
Teasing me that I could lose my man
with just one wrong word.
I reached up slowly and touched your
cheek, and you kissed my palm,
Humming as you did.
Touch has always been a glue for us, a
wall-breaker, when we've started to build.
The half-grin is gone and you're
smiling now
And the whispers of a bad omen have
retreated back … back ...
You pull me into your arms and we're
dancing and laughing
On a cold street in the middle of the
night in Pittsburgh
And neither one of us quite knows why
But we both know that we missed a
storm.
