Old Fashioned Finesse

You slide through the door when the room turns gold,
White jacket, slow grin, hands steady and bold.
One cube in the glass, orange peel in your hand,
You stir that old fashioned like you own the whole stand.

You say, “Bonsoir, sweetheart, tell me what you need,”
Your voice rolls low while the glasses all gleam.
Bitters, bourbon, a twist, then you lean in close—
I came for one drink, but you know how this goes.

Old fashioned, made by your hands,
One slow turn and I forget my plans.
“À votre santé,” you murmur so low,
You pour that amber and you steal the show.
Old fashioned, keep the night on hold,
A little bit of sugar, a little bit bold.
“Encore un verre?” You smile, I say yes—
That bartender’s got dangerous finesse.

You polish the bar while the last song fades,
Tell me, “Mon cœur, the best things take their time.”
A measured pour, that bittersweet trace,
You set down the glass and remember my name.

Pas trop vite, take it slow,
L’orange turns where the warm lights fall.
You raise one brow; I laugh, “D’accord,”
Then you make that drink like you’ve done it before.

Old fashioned, made by your hands,
One slow turn and I forget my plans.
“À votre santé,” you murmur so low,
You pour that amber and you steal the show.
Old fashioned, keep the night on hold,
A little bit of sugar, a little bit bold.
“Encore un verre?” You smile, I say yes—
That bartender’s got dangerous finesse.

Dernier verre, the room grows still,
You tip your hat; I’m under your skill.