The Smell of a Coffee Shop

the smell of a coffee shop
always seems to pry open the eyes
whether its the potency of the beans
or the calming tea so green,
I know I'm awake.

the person who I'm waiting for
she seems to know the difference
between a memory and a place
a fantasy and a face,
I think she's a smart one.

the newspaper inks black onto the glass
while I watch it seep with no course
I know I should wipe it away
before she walks my way,
I believe I'm just seeing things.

it drips onto the carpeted floor
with no tact for the boards below, drinking deep
my conscience knows this is all in my head
but my eyes can't help but be filled with the dread
I trust I'm losing my mind.

this river of my insanities
creeps out among the feet of others, beneath their boots
I want to cry out
tell them to watch out
I halt, knowing I need help.

it grabs their ankles and splatters up their pantyhose
and somehow they can't see it
my foot starts to tap
as I see it reach their laps
I fear its taking over.

and then, she walks in to this mess and this grime
I'm starting to panic, praying that she'll turn around
but she continues on,
a smile happily drawn,
I realize that something's gone wrong.

I didn't want to meet her this way
with all my madness pushing out through the seams
I've much rathered a quiet cup of tea
Opposed to this nervousness haunting me
I feel her inching closer.

I faintly hear a "What's wrong?"
But I'm already lost in the ink oozing up her skirt.
I can't let it claim them again.
I won't let it happen like then.
I refuse to sit in uselessness.

Her delicate fingers land on my shoulder
And suddenly all is clean and sparkling
She's staring, terrified
While I'm trying hard to find
I don't feel safe in the least.

I tell her I'm okay, that it was just indigestion.
Real smooth, Romeo, like the buttered up idiot you are,
And she smiles and she laughs
And takes a seat and perhaps
I have made it through the worst.

and then, its smooth as water, the surface unbroken,
we're discussing Nietzsche and Rembrandt's works,
and indulging in one another
at last relaxed enough to lack wonder
I believe I can see clearly.

when that old suspicion sneaking up on my end
she folds her fingers on the table neatly as ever,
and in between the creases
as a chemical releases
I am going to keep my composition.

but its poking from inside her pointer and mid,
when the breath hitches in my chest at the very thought
she's twisting them tighter
and her smirk perks higher
I know I'm not breathing.