poems,  poetry

Booth at the Restaurant

warm amber
dances against her face
into her eyes
the booth is soft
and quiet

they hold hands
across the table
stolen glances
from so close
breath lost

whispers forced
from throats
that beg to
scream their

the gentle glow
from frayed lamp
and dusty shade
flush against
the walls

his eyes catch hers
that perfect
slow motion
that kills you

their hands
spines freeze
and they remember
that moment forever.