She Likes Beer, I Like Wine
She orders drafts with names I can’t pronounce,
I swirl my glass and make ridiculous amounts
Of comments like, “Hints of cherry… maybe oak?”
She takes one sip and says, “Tastes fine.” No joke.
She loves loud bars with neon beer signs,
I like soft jazz and overpriced wines.
She wears old sneakers, dances out of beat,
I’m checking if the cabernet pairs with the meat.
She wants pretzels salty enough to raise the dead,
I’m building charcuterie boards instead.
She’ll crack open cans while watching the game,
I light a candle and know each grape by name.
She laughs too loud at the parts not funny,
Calls me dramatic when I say “notes of honey.”
I plan out evenings, she wings every part,
But somehow her chaos fits next to my heart.
She likes dive bars with dollar beer nights,
I like quiet dinners and city lights.
She rolls her eyes when I say “aged to perfection,”
Then grabs my hand with zero hesitation.
And maybe that’s love — not choosing the same,
Not needing two people perfectly framed.
Just finding someone who walks differently beside you,
Yet somehow makes the whole wild world feel right too.
So here’s to her beer and my stubborn wine,
To her rough edges fitting softly with mine.
Different in taste, in rhythm, in view —
But if she’s the pour, then I’m staying for two.