FACE ACROSS THE WAY

She sat at a nearby table
directly in my line of vision,
and as I glanced up
from my black hazelnut decaf
I caught sight of her exotic looks:
cheekbones imperiously prominent,
eyes the shape of almonds,
dark as ebony shards,
wide and curious,
sleek hair boyishly cropped and lightly waved,
black as licorice,
skin unlined and imbued
with the hue of caramel

She seemed an amalgam of flavors:
African-American melded with Caucasian
with a tincture of Hispanic,
the riddle made more curious
by her white male companion
upon whose words she appeared to dawdle

Furtively, I would peek over my friend’s shoulder
to admire the beauty at the other table,
wrapped in a beige sweater,
its V-neckline pointing to her erotic crevice,
which I imagined to be warm and inviting
and crying for exploration

My friend spoke and I nodded perfunctorily,
more concerned with making eye contact
with the caramel face,
 as if it would link us like modem to computer,
and instantaneously we could communicate
our urges and whims
beyond this gulf of tables

She smiled at her companion,
her teeth as white as priceless porcelain
and haloed by ample lips
touched lightly by a mere suggestion
of magenta lip gloss.
I wondered how they would feel
on  my neck and mouth,
pliant and dangerous,
consumptive and loving,
whispering odes to our passion

For a second as fleeting as a note
in a Charlie Parker solo,
our eyes met,
and in an act of emotional cowardice
I looked away, seeking protection
in the faces of the other patrons,
preferring to think she now discovered my existence
and toyed with her own fantasies

Eventually I recouped my courage
to gaze at the tables
beyond my friend’s right shoulder,
where my nameless angel
sat preoccupied with her companion,
my face an anonymous extra
in this café scene