She is the edge of the unknown,
unfamiliar female form
fitting in a small wooden chair
one table over and four down there.

Soft shadows slightly obscure
her beautiful features.
So, I am unable to ascertain
the precise color of her hair
or her age.

Small glass chalice of liquid
in her hand as she sits
silently sipping, and listening
with just the hint of a smile
curving her pink lips.

She holds her head at a safe angle,
pale white arms steadying her
small round features.
Then her hand shifts
to cover her small mouth,
a mystery in contemplation.

We all fetishize a mystery,
fantasizing about what we
are unable to see,
but once known it is discarded so easily.
Still, I desire to meet her
before the glow of fascination fades.