Quick, but for a drink

smoky jazz in whiskey hazes breeds familiarity like that summer night, back when. i was dew-dropped and loaded, could smell your stories before you let them crawl out at me, slow and graceful. you always played at ballet, didn't you? there wasn't enough time then, to watch it all unfold, card-like and thick. the piano spelled it all out, rhythmically, finger by finger, and you unbutton. i was only just 3 steps away from the door before your poison found me, coaxed my nerves. dirty-myth and lives that were wired, distraction-bound, you navigated around them, never so much as touching the edges, rough and worn. was it the way i slayed the drink? was it how my mouth shapes words, wet and....and dripping? or was it just the way i wore my shirt that night, watching the waves like i might jump, like i might fly?