surveiling the curve of her hips

through the steam of his latté

that curve, he thinks

could engulf my world

wiping fog from his lenses

he gazes blurry at the sway

inhales her rockingchair walk

catches his breath when the pendulum

pauses

as her bleachwatered hands

press and smooth

her apron flat

how he'd love

to press it flat

smooth over those arching bones

the archway to heaven to be sure

he dreams

of being cradled and soothed

in a mug of steaming hips

as broad as the equator

as hot as frothed milk

he doesn't notice her take notice

of biscotti bits

dangling from a hairy lip

she prays

with sighs she keeps

in her pockets like change

with a desire

darker and stronger

than day old Turkish coffee

that he'll brush the crumbs

from his whiskers and table

and leave

or leave a much sweeter tip

(c) 2005 karen suriano