Love is,

Catching that scent,
so perfect a concoction dripping off your body,
so ingeniously devised to ensnare the mind,
conjuring such images of beauty leading the mind
to such fantasy. How you've entrapment with your
delicate scent, even before I've seen your face or
spoken to you.

That spectacular fall from grace.


It's watching as your purse your lips, thinking of
what delicate nectar, would warrant your time,
to grace your lips. Having your lips part ever so
slightly, you with the cute little bob. Cut like you're
still in the country, still carefree without the stress
of work and drugs contaminating your soul, your body.


When I watch you while you're slowly sipping that
Coffee. A millions thoughts racing through my head,
about how fantastically delicate you seem. How out
of place and how lonely. As you sit, solitary.

It's walking past your table, and catching your eye,
while you're still sitting down there exotic and all alone.
Catching your eye, about to bring a smile to my face
then realizing.

Fuck. Why should I even smile at all? It's the end of my
shift. I'm not wearing that fucking green apron anymore,
and I don't have to smile at you people if I don't want to.
Besides, I must be fucking insane to entertain thoughts of
falling in love. Bloody monotony of work. I bet it's the damn
lack of stimulation, from working daily at this joint.




After which, you walk away practicing that retarded smile
that your painfully put on, every single day at work. Carrying
the practise of smiling even when you've knocked off. Ready
to punch the living daily lights out of anyone who gives you
the slightest provocation.


After all, I'm in the people business.

Smile. I'm in love.