Coffee

The tall, white cups of coffee -
the stark black font and emerald,
spherically encased mermaid
that tastefully adorns them -
are blurs in the foreground.
She hurries in the backdrop
of a somewhat crowded,
picturesque scene in the coffee shop.
She doesn't stand out normally -
there is nothing at first glance
that would give reason
         to lavish even the least
attention on her. And yet,
like an apple landing squarely on
             Isaac Newton's head,
eyes are drawn to her.
She appears buoyant, studious,
               beaming, quiet,
coy, and indecipherable
        all at once.
She is moonlight illuminating
the dim nights and
silent stretches of time.
Unlike the coffee line,
all stands still.
         Refills are topped off
the coffee cups. Thoughts
are written on somewhat stained
pages, undeniably drenched
in curious observation.
She is a stream of thoughts,
cool enough to leave impressions.
But there are no casualties.
        No one is drowning
in overthrows of affection.
Maybe a few are drowning in
their coffee, but let's suppose that
             to be irrelevant.
                       The elephant in the room
is the fact that at this moment,
as the ink lies into
discernible shapes on the page,
     I am musing about her.
But that's as far as it'll ever be -
               that idealistic stage
                       of poetic fantasy,
resolutely confined in the library
      of a rattling, prattling arguably
              genius mind.
What cannot be denied,
is the fact she's immortalized
                                                on paper.
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Just a poem about admiration. And the truth that once something is written about someone, it doesn't go away~

Cheers!