With mistletoe hung low from their ceiling,
They pushed aside their mattress and their clutter.
A ballroom in the middle of their simple sunlit day's.
The orchestra; an old cassette player,
Croaking out the overstrung guitar
Of the local artist they paid ten cents each.
A clink in a filling case.
They twirl and stumble and fall and laugh;
Royalty of their simple world
Of take outs and boxed wine and lazy mornings and candlelight.
A little drunk,
A little lost,
A little hopeful;
They clung onto their love.
And as far as clichés go;
They were worth the mistletoe.
