still, you're all i see

it could be like a page from one of those books,
when i think of it,
outside the coffee-shop, and i'm sipping slow,
so i don't burn my tongue,
and then you're there,
and i can't do much more than linger.

i'll think of things, and words that i might say
but i'll keep quiet and watch you pass.

it could be sweet,
chocolate kisses in a cold flat,
or leaning on your car,
and i might ask you to meet me
at Savoy, and i could steal your breath,
your lips [no distractions].

we might light up a room,
in a place we've never been,
and we might never have met before,
but we might make memories -
buttercream on your lips, is sweet.

if i had it my way,
and if i didn't dream and sit, watching,
slowly sipping so that i don't burn my tongue.