Elf Bites ❄ l.s. AU

8: Napkins and Nerves

And peppermint hot cocoa

Your eyes pierce me in ways

My body is not

Accustomed to

                  Was this poetry? Louis stopped walking and set his cup of tea down on a table near where he stood. He read over that napkin again before tucking it behind the others and attempting to make out what was written on this one.

Your edges are fire

Your curves a tidal wave

I'm carbon dioxide and

Expensive parchment

And you're going to ruin me

You exhale like icicles

I melt you with my tongue

You're lethal and lithe

A flicker of the Big Bang

And you're going to ruin me

                  Louis turned it over, desperate for more, holding his breath without even realizing it. His eyes assaulted this shitty napkin until he found another stanza scribbled along the edges like the mystery author was too engulfed in his work to be bothered to simply grab another napkin for the end.

I bet your whimpers

Are symphonies

And

                  Wait, had he read that correctly? He squinted even more, bringing the napkin closer to his face. But there was no more writing. Obviously the author had run out of room, but...how did it end? Did it just repeat the final line of the first two stanzas again or was there more?

                  "Shit," Louis breathed aloud, unable to help himself. He felt all tingly and sort of embarrassed, like he was witnessing a private confession that he shouldn't be. Self-consciously, he looked around, but the only other person there was Molly and she was somewhere in the back. Once he knew he was in the clear, he read the last stanza again, this time out loud.

                  "I bet your whimpers are symphonies, and..." He pursed his lips. "And...you're going to ruin me." It sounded right, of course. The perfect ending to a surprisingly breathtaking poem, and yet he couldn't help but wonder if he had it wrong. And if he did, what could it be? How would he ever find out?

                  "Hey, Molly?" he called out, figuring it couldn't hurt to ask.

                  "Yeah?" she answered, appearing behind the counter again.

                  "Do you know what these are? These, um, poems, I think?" He held them up so that she could see what he was talking about, but he already felt foolish. How would she know?