Coffee Shop

Through the gathering mist, we see the lighted windows of the coffee shop and hurry inside.

The warm smell of biscuits and sweet butter envelops us, melting the night's chill. Your arm catches in the sleeve of your coat as you take it off; my eyes are drawn to the lower lip you bite as you struggle; so struck by how beautiful you are, I take a moment before offering to help you.

With your coat over my arm, I find us a small table in the corner, by the window, then return to you just as you finish ordering.

Make that two, I say, smiling at the man behind the counter who is also admiring you. He quickly fills our orders, and I carry them to the table.

As we talk, the cumulus clouds swallow the indigo sky; I trace their whorls on my napkin while focusing on your eyes, your face, your smile. I could be here forever...

...but I've already been lost in your eyes several hours, and the shop closes in half an hour.

We should go soon, you say, and I nod. I place some bills on the table, and we stand up to leave. As I help you back into your coat, your hair tickles my nose; I have a sudden desire to wind my fingers into your hair, to cradle my face in the sloping hollow of your neck and shoulder.

Instead, I move away from you, and follow you from the shop, nodding good-night to the man behind the counter.

Our footsteps echo off the sidewalk and splash through puddles. I take your hand as we near your apartment, squeeze it a moment, then let go.

That was great! I tell you, I feel like I can survive another week now.