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The awning of Ovis, a shade from the sun,
Cast patterns of light, where her story begun.
Not rain-streaked glass, but a warm, open space,
Where her curly brown hair framed a captivating face.
She moved through the tables, a sun-dappled dream,
Her presence a current, a vibrant sunbeam.
"A light, if you have one?" her soft voice inquired,
Her eyes, like warm honey, instantly fired.
At Ovis, the buzz of the afternoon's trade,
Was hushed by her beauty, a moment she made.
The lighter I offered, a trembling, quick hand,
As the flame caught, she smiled, and I couldn't withstand.
Those curls, a dark river, cascading and free,
A wild, untamed beauty, for all eyes to see.
No window to blur, just the clear, golden air,
At Ovis, a magic, beyond all compare.
She lingered, a moment, a soft, gentle sway,
And the world seemed to brighten, that very same day.
The chatter of patrons, the clinking of cups,
Faded away softly, as her beauty erupts.
At Ovis, that moment, a memory's art,
Her curly brown hair, forever in my heart.
A chance, sunlit meeting, a captivating sight,
A beautiful stranger, bathed in golden light.


To Ayla, 

For the spark you ignited. With this poem, I honor the beauty of our encounter. These words are for you.


Lev

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