you were restless
so was i
tapping your fingers
against the table
creating music
oh-so-nonchalantly
while i was trying
not to spill the coffee
holding the mug
so tightly that
my knuckles turned white
while i stared at your hair
black as the night
you smiled then
looking into my eyes
merging my forest green eyes
with your sea blue ones
alas,
the sea is not what
the forest needs to
s u r v i v e
.
i am loving this crap i call 'my writing'. who else is?