Bourgogne, Comte and the Simpsons

I'll miss nights like these.

Defined by a wine, a cheese, a cartoon.

Or a view, an ashtray and gin tonics.

Perhaps beer, a cake and bridge over the river kwai.

How about manhattans, hedgehog carpaccio and a coat?

Maybe a box of wine, tuna fish and lots of rolling around.

Of course there are other nights.

Some I won't miss, but cannot forget.

Tickets, a drink, an email.

Margaritas, jetlag and a phone call.

Kobe steak, an expense account and a spilled glass of cristal.

A river, rain, tears.

Whisky, solitude, anger.

But sometimes a nnight can be defined by just one thing.

One thing can make a night to miss, a night not to miss.

A smile.

The touch on my lips.

Grasping my hand for just an instant.

Sometimes all that's needed for a perfect night is a phone call.

One call, and I will sleep with a smile.

But those I cannot stand to hear from call me so often, but those I want to call never do.

Tactics, I shall use them.

Keep my head, my heart, my wallet safe.

Perhaps the last shall fall.