You slowly sway,
then sip on sour grapes until it drips on your bottom lip and finds the floor.
I can tell that you want more.
I can tell that you are sore,
and the pain explains why you are running again.
I know you to only dance and drink when you think you are sinking.
The songs you sing echo that something is wrong.
I won’t ask,
expecting you to talk when you can barely walk is wishful at best.
After you rest, I’ll have a shoulder, suggestion or an ear;
hoping we can chase fear.
But for now, I’ll allow you to drink and drown the frown,
I might even treat you to my two left feet.
I will not burden you with questions tonight,
I only intend to silently hold your hand and be a friend.