Her Locs

Sitting at the table, I looked to my right
What came to my eyes was a beautiful sight
A Caribbean beauty with locs in her hair
Took my breath away, couldn’t help but to stare

They looked so full, must have taken years to sprout
She was so remarkable; she would have been beautiful with or without
But with them, her beauty extends
Flowing locs with golden highlights at the ends

I wanted to look away, but that wasn’t the case
I just couldn’t get past how they accentuated her face
This was not the only way in which her beauty was stressed
She walked across the room gracefully in a long black dress
When I saw her, I said “Oh yes”

Intimidation and a determination came all at the same time
I wished I could talk to her, but I became a mime
She owned eyes that through the soul she could penetrate
But still possessed the power to sedate

More than a double take, I couldn’t stop from looking back
At the girl with the locs in the dress that’s black
Sitting two or so tables away
I’m hoping to myself that she looks my way

I’m sure our eyes met at least once or twice
Now all I need is a way to break the ice
Sitting in my chair on-looking, this is quite a shame
I want to talk to her…if only I knew her name