Demure grin

Sting: A thousand years

Some moments are never lost
Not really

"I don't like Bukowski"
She said
Sly smile growing
Her finger softly circled
While her laughing eyes
Hid a beckoning question
I wanted to spend my life answering

The gentle laugh
Sounding more like a hiccup
As
In simple movements
Her hand reached over to caress my arm
While her eyes
Looked into my soul
As she
Let me look into hers
For a moment
Elusive
But knowing
In the brief eternity
That our souls were accepted
They danced
Slowly
As they
Longed to meld
To feel
As her hand
Longed to meld
To feel
Traced my forearm
Before
Reaching for her coffee
The momentary bow
The cup was raised
A pause
A quick smiling stare before the sip
"I still don't like Bukowski"
Finishing with a demure grin