Paper Napkins

I wrote his name over and over, cursive, print, bubble letters

Over and over on paper napkins like a high school teen crushing

I doodled a list of random names spying his booth across the diner

His sandy hair reflected the sun; speckles of firestone in the morn

Nothing compared to the fire, however, burning in my lonely heart

Hiding behind my menu, I peeked above the rim, watching a waitress

Pouring coffee, serving him orange juice with a plate of hot cakes

Drizzling maple syrup, he turned to thank his server; a smile of pearls

His pearly whites were freshwater gems; I wanted to explore his waters

Instead, I wrote his name over and over on paper napkins, dreaming

Dreaming of his baby blues, his chiseled jaw, his perfectly postured body

My posture slouched, feeling weak; my lips went numb, imagining a kiss

One kiss that I pictured from a perfect stranger made me warm and fuzzy

A giddy school girl, I was, living in a fantasy world sitting in a diner booth

Up next to order, I duplicated my dream boat’s request; the waitress grinned

She glanced down at the paper napkins, the name scribblings, and paused

Glancing across the diner, she pointed, I nodded; she held up her index finger

Wait a sec, I thought, What? It was too late, away went one paper napkin

Carried away by an enthusiastic matchmaking waitress to the sandy ones’ seat

Seconds later, maybe five, ten, a million, his baby blues met mine; magic!

The next thing I knew, we were wiping our faces with paper napkins, dining, paired

Paper napkins and love letters, of one and the same? Probably not, but in retrospect

Jottings on napkins were messages to the universe arranging a table for two