Take me ten steps at a pace,
a shot of bourbon, and an arm around your waist.
A twenty-inch smile,
as we coast at dusk to desert, a curve for each mile.
Give an ounce of trust,
that we’ll move on up, as we dwell,
on how many times we fell.
It’ll seem like we must,
or at least try to adjust, this small journey of love.
In a day, or one last year,
it’ll all come down,
to time will tell.
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