an old writer and his words

We sit acrossfrom each otherseparated bythe small tablethat teeters,her cappuccinolicking at the rim.My toes danceagainst hersand she looks upquizzically.I smile and reachfor her handtouching her fingersfeeling the fine silverof the rings on each.She pulls her handback and looksinto the richbrown sheen.I stare out the windowat the odd carlookingfor a spacein the overfull lot,then pullingback ontothe…