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It was the fault of a local in the center,
you entered in search of peace,
no seats, just a space,
and me there, waiting perhaps.
Tired of endless turns,
with glass in hand you wandered,
without looking, you chose your place,
and next to me you rested.
I asked you what I wished,
“To have a drink,” said you,
“Does my presence disturb you?”
“I love it,” I answered you.
Your eyes were a game,
a gleam carried by dance,
your laughter put me on alert,
something in me changing.