The Girl at the Espresso Shop

Patchouli scented airwaves, naturally

pushed their serenity upon

the blight that dyes the blood-beating

drone of rain—where elementary plucking

politely accompanied the cacophony

of drum fodder originally

fashioned for this brittle child who, somehow,

briefly stole my heart during

that summer I spent vacationing at the smallest

of the least popular Sandalwood resorts.

I forgot all about that precious child, until this afternoon,

where I saw this Artistic-flavored hippie chick, who reminded

me of that brittle girl I’d internally obsessed over, for each of the

14 nights I’d spent unplugged many, many year’s prior.

Conveniently, she sat, sipping a caramel

espresso at the tiny cafe annexed between

the herbal market and the yoga palace, which just so

happens to double as a karaoke/singles bar on

both Thursday and Friday nights.

Through opium contoured designations, I peered, as inconspicuously as possible, at the hippie girl, while she continued her torturously slow sipping, upon that beautifully delicate, bluish-white demitasse cup—and after removing her lips, in painstakingly slow regards, I could feel the serum pulsating through me then and there—all this occurring moments before I had the privilege to take notice, as to how her raspberry gloss had redecorated the fragile cup’s design.

For what seemed like hours—time seemed to linger, wafting enchantingly through the salted air—

This, of course, was nothing but an approximation, as there really wasn’t anyway I could have located the precise expenditure of time—for I haven’t wore a watch in roughly twenty years, my cell-phone’s battery had given up on me moments before I caught the first glimpse of this wonderfully exquisite sight, and the only wall clock was positioned behind me—and while I certainly, with ease I might add, could’ve turned around and examined the hour and minute hands to know for sure—the truth of the matter is that I, in supreme stalker mode fashion, never veered my gaze from this wonderfully fascinating breath of fresh light.  By the end of the afternoon I fully understood ever inch of the rose painted sundress this girl wore so very well.

Created using Monday Melting's inspiring word list. To learn more and share in the fun, stop on over to Shawna's and see what it's all about, if you're like me, you'll find yourself hooked.

Also sharing with Open Link Night at D'Verse.  The Doors are open, the poetry is flowing, and the mike is live.  So stop over, check out the wonderful poetry on display and why not share a poem you wrote while you're there.