Bar smoke and cigarette
Take form and whisper dreams;
Echoes of faded memories
Stitched by nostalgia’s golden seams.
Dancers tap in wooden floors
That only serve to draw me in
To dreams, and I’ll forgive the past
Of ev’ry mistake and equal sin.
Growing in blurs of pleasure and pain,
Wishing you’d take my hand again
For a first, and if you’ll be my last;
Darling, may I have this dance?