Blame it on the Martini

I just adore a tipsy man.
Not drunk--
just a little fuzzy,
with an easy grin
which hasn't gone foolish.
He stops stomping,
lowers his guard,
and learns to trust.

Spontaneous
and delightfully fragile,
with a dreamy look
and a knowing smile,
A little boy
who plays games
like "Dare!"

A romantic
with surprise hugs
and stolen kisses,
which he can later
blame on the booze.

I just adore a tipsy man.