VIRB

The cafés’ stone wall leaned against my backside.
My order was in,
a “Kicken Roast Beef Bagel Sandwich” was in preparation,
and when properly groomed, it would call out my first name
as though it, I, and its designers, were familiar.

As I fondled the roughness of the wall to pass time,
the bell riding door handle turned, “Ding, Ding!”

…and she entered.

Her polished long black hair floated upwards as she passed me
leaving me in the quake of a distinguished womanly scent.
A scent that captured me,
drawing my every breath of attention to her presence.

Her presence,
slender,
yet curvy in regards to her perfect circular mound of a belly,
a belly in need of, “a bagel, with peanut butter spread…no jelly”
and “a strawberry banana smoothie”.

Lunch for two I presumed, for her, and her passenger.

I watched her move,
and how her feminine features conversed with the lights
and shadows dancing through the etchings in the windows.
She was stunning, glowing with angelic wings,
and that halo,
radiating above her pulsing womb,
filled the room with the rhythm of a double heartbeat.

Consumed by the throb of her presence,
when my order was up, I nearly missed my name.
I took one last breath of air, now brisk,
in the autograph of her womanhood.
I grabbed my paper wrapped luncheon
and fled back to work,
almost as if, I were running away
from the intensity of an aura of light,
a light that only woman
shine.