Night,
cold, dark,
in Copenhagen.

Beer,
a friend,
a bar.

We talked about life,
broken loves,
and new seductions.

There were many **** women
in that place,
but none like her.

It wasn’t her body,
it wasn’t what she didn’t say,
she hadn’t even spoken to us.

It was what she radiated,
her gestures,
her gaze,
her harmony.

All the others, full of signals,
red lips,
high heels,
but you, just the simple waitress.

We didn’t know what was happening,
it was magnetism,
a universal energy,
something spiritual.

Maybe it was your presence,
sweet goddess,
disguised as a servant.

A goddess,
one we longed to worship.

You walked up to us,
"Another drink?" you asked.
That sweetness
was a dose of a drug
we craved more of.

He was charged with ecstasy,
an energy,
inviting you to talk,
but saying, I don’t need you.

An energy,
of here I am,
and this is who I am.

That passion,
of being herself,
of acceptance.

That night, I went home
without knowing what happened,
without knowing what had struck me.

What could have been,
was strange,
was magnetism.

What was it?