Tales & Thyme Café

[intro] In a land where the stars and the dreams align A café floats softly on the edge of time! A dragon,— so tiny, with flames in her breath, She’s crafting desserts with a fiery finesse. With a flick of her tail, the sugar starts to gleam, Whisperin' spells, like she's part of the stream. (Making you part of her scheme.) [verse 1] I walk in slow, stars stuck to my shoes, Café lights hummin' in lavender hues. Cream turns to gold on a porcelain plate, She winks as the sugar ignites on my fate. "Sip constellations, they're sweet with a twist, Caramel moons and a cinnamon mist." She laughs like a bell, sets the spoons all to sway— “Stay for dessert,” and I’m floatin’ away. [Verse 2] The door creaks, and the warmth pulls everything inside, With wooden beams, where the firelight hides. Candles flicker, the softest flame, As if they’re holding secrets, never the same. A man in a coat, threads of green and gold, Scribbles on parchment, his eyes quiet, old. A woman in silk, her laughter like rain, Whispers of stories, woven in a chain. Books stacked high, with dust on their spines, Tales of the ages, crossing all lines. Owls perched above, blinking with grace, Their wise eyes watching the dreams we chase. "The tick of the clock, like a slow-motion scythe, Time slips away, like clouds in the sky, A couple sharing glances, their hands held tight, The world outside forgotten,— in a soft sight." A cat curled up, in the window’s warm glow, Its tail twitching slow, like a secret we know. Outside, the night spins with stars and rhyme, But here it’s jasmine, thyme, and a sip of time. [Verse 3] The sugar still shimmers where no hands have stirred, And the spoons keep swaying, though no one's heard. The dragon’s gone quiet, her eyes on the flame, But her smile stays sharp, like she knows my name. A teacup refills with no visible hand, Steam curls upward—shaped like a strand Of someone’s old memory, caught in the light, Then vanishes quick, like breath into night. The guests don’t leave, they just slowly blur, Pages of books that begin to slur. Owls still blink, but now with a hush— Like the room itself holds its breath in a rush. I try to rise, but my limbs feel slow— The air like syrup, the clocks tick low. And just as I speak, to ask for the time, The café whispers back... “You’re already mine.”