By the Bistro

How can I be so sure. There have been many times where I have been sure before. In fact, surer than sure. Standing outside of myself; I brush pass every other thought. A space crowded with nowhere particularly to be. Except here. Shoulders brush against the thought of other shoulders. Irked in irritation; the search of a higher purpose.   A casual meet and greet of lips. A bistro of conversation with neither of us knowing what to order. We swirled in each others thought. Becoming the spoons which swirled around in creme and sweetener. The thought was mutual.   We were both generous with our sips. Both known to the after thought of addiction. The roof of our mouths drenched with infatuation. Lost somewhere between the rumbling of our stomach. And the eying of Banana bread muffins. Moist in infatuation. The fulfillment of a connection of something so simple.