Edward Cullen

Edward Cullen

Edward Cullen sits across the table,
A porcelain sculpture -- untouchable.
He traces the rim of a coffee cup,
White marble kissing glass.
The waitress fans herself
With a menu to cover a creeping blush.
His eyes seek mine.
My heart skips a beat.
I can only hear our shallow breaths
Spilling intensity into the warm evening air.
My thoughts are lost as a candle,
Blown away like a grey smoke trail.
He reaches for my hand,
Warm flesh enfolded in frozen stone.
I welcome the cold, abandon impossibility,
And slip into the mystery of golden topaz.
Tonight remains our secret.
We still have miles to go before I sleep.