Posted: November 11, 2014 in Uncategorized

Everyday when the clock strikes nine, the pulse of his heart quickens,
He has never understood the idiocy of his pulsating heart at that particular time,
Maybe it’s the wave of a lavender scent that ignites a fire in the pit of his stomach,
Maybe it’s the mythical figure that lines the entrance of the coffee shop,
It might be the enchanting pair of deep, large eyes,
He knows his soul is transparent to those eyes,
Maybe it’s the full lips that curve sensually to the coffee cup,
Or the delicate fingers wrapped around the equally delicate coffee cup,
The possible reasons to his quickening heartbeat don’t matter just now,
If he doesn’t touch those high cheekbones-he will die,
Drop dead right in the middle of the coffee shop,
If he could just feel those beautifully arched brows, he wouldn’t mind dying,
Perhaps he should feign an accident, his coffee should accidentally spill on her crystal blouse,
Then he would touch her,
Even if just for a second,
His heart races a marathon in the embers of his chest,
Before he acts on his “smooth” whim, she rises gracefully from her seat, smooth clear complexion reflected by the shop’s decent lighting,
His heartbeat slows considerably,
In disappointment, perhaps sulking that it’s owner didn’t act fast enough,
The unearthly beauty would be back.
Tomorrow at nine it will dance again.


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