Night Mess

The night wears on, the pile builds up
Of plates and forks and plastic cups
Filled with cigarette stubs and ashes
And broken bits of burnt out matches.
Tea cups stain the table-top's white
As we sit here long into the night.

Warm greys, cool greys, markers abound,
And your mop of curls bobs up and down
As you render cars galore
Unlike any I've seen before;
Each one detailed to perfection,-
Balancing shadow with reflection.

I sit here, watching you;
You come here everyday,
So I come here daily too.
And I sit here, watching you,
As you work on, oblivious to
The fact that i'm in love with you.

(To Rustom, with love)