She follows the lady in,
and points to a window seat.
“I’d love it there, please.”
And so, there she finally sits.
She whips out her white machine –
now there it sits in angellic glory.
They match the color of the table,
both pristine, both adore-ry.
Flowers are casted by her side –
the resplendently pink creatures defining every line
of beauty aboard the world of mankind.
Sumptuous beings incarcerated by inanimate glass chugs –
a living paradox casted by her side.
And there she goes – typing away, fingers a fluttering
mess of puppets masquerading Juliet’s play.
Her stomach grumbles and roars like a grey sky.
It needs food, her mind plays out, like a signal obtained
from a morse code, wrapping deceit in perfect disguise.
She was supposed to be on a diet.
Groaning, she ordered half a dozen of croissants anyway.
After all, her stomach – it needed food to survive,
if not, her energy would go on a descent and her mood, ire.
“Half a dozen croissants for the lady in…”
She looked up at the bellowing voice of the waiter,
whose eyes greeted her with cerulean tints.
His voice wandered off in plumes of his minty breath
and their eyes locked for a minute and more seconds.
They cleared their throats and at that moment,
he swore to himself
that he just caught the most winsome smile of them all
The ravishing definitions of her face,
really, the most beautiful he had ever seen before.
And she swore to herself
that for once she felt
like her heart could handle
someone more than what
she ever hand held.
“Whats your name?”
They chimed in unison.
Hello, mellow, cello –
a greeting, a feeling, a note
that right then,
they both felt.