Stolen Moments

I sip stale coffee from a ceramic mug and watch through windows, the way he holds a bouquet of roses wrapped in brown paper. Watching the street for his lover, he is unaware of those side-stepping around his feet. Stop signs, street lights, he curses them all. Waiting is agony with the whisper of joy in the ticks of the clock which pull him through time towards the infinite moment, the half smile and shy glance downward, embarrassed by the deserved attention. Stops signs, street lights, why? He taps his foot impatiently as if sending morse code messages through the sidewalk to fate itself. His nervous head twitches like a squirrel, but rather than scampering towards safety he waits in the open with his heart in his hand, blooming and beautiful. As a dingy honda civic approaches, his face breaks open with a smile and his eyes sparkle as he jogs towards the parking spot. The infinite moment, his partner has seen the roses and offers a half smile and a shy glance downward, embarrassed by the deserved attention. He pretends he was just looking at the seatbelt as he frees himself and escapes to a lover’s arms. A long hug. Deep squeeze. Light peck on the cheek before a bashful retreat into a shy smile as he opens one hand to accept the flowers, before offering the other to be held. A fair trade. Unlike my coffee. I bashfully retreat my attention into my mug, day-dreaming stories behind every stolen moment I’ve savored today.