as I recall it that sunny day
not so long ago,
long fingers with
polished nails
(not a usual thing when most times
I’ve seen them, she painted them clear),
both hands balancing
the cup
just below her lips,
not yet ready to sip,
poised to do so,
a slow motion moment
nearly as still
as a photograph, an image so perfect,
so clear, it jumps
into my mind
the minute I think of her,
those amazing eyes
looking over the diner’s table at me,
reflecting me,
a curious look that I am curious about,
unable to read her thoughts
even though these are a window to her soul,
the fingers, the mouth, the eyes, locking me in,
making me ache now as
I did then,
a foolish notion,
an irresistible urge,
those fingers gripping me,
as they do the cup, more so her mouth,
just slanted enough for a near perfect interaction,
the table, the cup,
the bright diner,
all too stark,
barriers that keep me in my seat,
though I still tumble
into those eyes,
drowning in depths way over my head.
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