Now.

Chin kept centimetres above my chest by the booze.

I’m awake late, even in the mornings.

Sitting on a cloud of ethanol,

Drifting low, sweeping over the people beneath,

Always about to rain.

Everyone grabs their umbrella just in case.

Lazily looking for your eyes,

Trying to meet them,

Just so you’ll see when mine float away,

So you’ll cry when I do.