Embodiment of Gold

In one of many towers
that houses the world's finest cup
of coffee, I sat, deaf to the hour
and its ploy; wedged between the cushions of
a theater seat that flexed as I scoured

through the pages of my book.
Colored by the intruding sun,
the canary-yellow top you took
to commune with the flaxen crown upon
your head and the captured shade of our shared nook:

you were lit up like a stage.
Pages turned to a program that
served to guide and restrict like a sage:
mouthing slow advice while your figure sat,
stiff with posture that would not betray your age.

You held presence up to par
with transcendent bodies in flight,
whose names escape but cannot go far
from public. And I'll use my calm to spite
the blossomed awareness that grows 'neath your star,

frowning at what's sprouting there
to disguise my fascination
with you, lest you should become aware
of the audience made in summation
of one lonely boy with an hour to spare.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Pretty proud of this one. Inspired by a pretty stranger.

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