She sits there
—arms crossed over legs
with glances out the panes
between stares
–a few–
at me.

...What should I say?..
Where might this go?
Nervous, I hold my breath,
and my heart breathes
–a few–
for me.

"Excuse me,
I must ask, Your name?"
To an amazing conversation...
"A pleasure sitting with you;
our speaking wasn't half-bad either."

But she left a minute ago
–a few,
and I never did nor do;..
this is all
just me.