Cup Of Tea?

The kettle quivers, starting slow,
Building itself up, it's rumbling growl
Only growing,
As the water seethes inside,
Lapping and collapsing in upon itself.
The coil grows hotter, it's red glow suffusing
A hazy ambience that
Only fills you with expectation.
She hovers there, poised aside it,
Unaware of its straining, gasping breath
As she reaches up for a cup, with
One foot quivering gently, so gently,
The strain barely visible beneath.
Coming down, her hair bounces lightly.
Smiling a benign, unknowing smile, she tucks
A loose strand delicately behind her ear.
Her fingers rippling as it falls into place.
Grasping the kettle, she pours. Steam curls up,
Forming pale ringlets around her face.
Taking a sip, a flush spreads over her features.
Looking up she smiles.
At you.
"Your cup of tea" you hear, her arm outstretched before her.
Blinking, you take it, stealing yourself as your hand
Brushes the soft skin of her fingertips.
"Thanks" you mutter timidly before collapsing upon yourself,
As you writhe in anguish, just wishing, longing, hoping, that
She'd been aware.
Of how she'd just been seen.