warm honey ▸ poetry

41

It was a cold and rainy Thursday afternoon.
We were out at a small cafe downtown where we sat against the window across from each other a small table in two metal chairs with red padding.
We talked about anything and everything that my mind and that your mind could push off of our tongues.
I looked over distractedly at the bookshelf and smiled.
I read off some of the titles that I recognized
my eyes wide and filled with something magical, something that only a book can make you feel.
and when I looked back at you, you were gazing at me with your head in your hand and a small smile on your lips.
In that very moment, you looked so in love with me, like I was an angel sent from Heaven.
I will never forget that look. That look alone was sweet as honey and soft as feathers. It made me feel something magical, something that only a book could make me feel.