To See Her Write

The keys pitter-pattered

Like an army of minuscule soldiers,

Beneath her delicate fingers,

Slightly worn and chipped aquatic blue nails

(Like the paint-job of an impounded Cadillac)

Hammering the keys like a five-and-dime piano man.

Her brow is knitted in concentration.

Her lips seem to be in constant argument with themselves.

Alternating between a tightly pursed scowl,

And an electric grin.

Her face is lit by the lamp above us

And the blue flame of the screen,

But her darting eyes are ignited by

A light all their own.

Coffee sizzles,

Maybe burns, in the background

As I listen to the tapping of keys

and the words that escape her lips

as imperceptible whispers.

I search to find a word

That encapsulates what I feel,

As I pour my coffee,

Scooping in sugar

We stole from an IHOP, 

Hidden in her purse.

I would call it beauty

But she says that I overuse the word.

So I continue to ponder

As I watch the low fat milk pint

beautiful, ephemeral spirals in the mug.

I look at her,

Simultaneously bored

And at rapt attention,

fist pressed against her cheek.

And at once I knew the word...

Love.

Reviews

[lyss]

I'm glad you posted this poem :)

[Firefly]

I love this piece, it's brilliant, you describe everything so beautifully and the structure and layout is fantastic. Well done.