I was a little drunk,
red in my cheeks,
warm in my chest,
and you̶
you were still steady.
You only sipped two glasses,
soft lips barely kissing the red rim.
I looked at you, half laughing,
"why donʼt you drink more?" i asked.
You smiled,
"Iʼm driving you home̶
what if I got drunk on the way?"
God. What if I already was?
Not on the wine,
but on your words,
on the scent you left in my sweater,
on that fucking moment
you chose to care so much,
yet never enough.