In The Cafe

By Arctic Lady

A raven lock of your hair

touches your cheek

and you blow it away,

those beautiful lips of yours

forming a perfect O.

I watch you

my heart is pounding.

This is my ritual,

my mantra,

sitting in the cafe,

two tables from you,

also a slave of your habit.

Twice a week,

cafe latte and a croissant.

See me.

See me now.

I have been gathering courage

to speak to you,

but how could I,

a humble servant of your beauty.

Your hand looks so strong,

strong enough to crush the fine bone china cup

and yet you handle it with care

that resembles love in my imagination.

I wonder if you would touch my skin

like it was finest china?

You catch me watching you.

Suddenly I find something very interesting

in the article I'm reading,

my cheeks are burning.

A penny for your thoughts,

you say,

can I have the paper when you have

finished it?

Yes, of course,

I say,

I'm done already.

Your hand reaches to me,

our fingers touch for a second

when the paper changes hands.

Your smile is wide.

How is your day?

you ask.

Oh my day is just perfect,

I manage to say.

You smile a while longer,

the spell has vanished.

You broke the ice,

now I'm able to sail

in the free waters of

syllables and sentences.

Next time

I will sit in your table.