We were talking business

We were talking business,

the usual polite exchange

across a sticky cafe table,

the kind of dim light that hides

the small truths.

But a strip of sun, thin as paper,

found its way through the grimy window

and caught a single, dark hair

just beneath your left eye.

An eyelash, perfect, curved,

a tiny crescent on your cheek.

And for a second, I forgot

the spreadsheets, the deadlines,

the lukewarm coffee.

All I could see was that fragile speck,

a wish fallen from its place,

and the strange urge not to tell you,

to just let it be,

a secret between us

and the dust dancing in the air.