Talking About Love (Pls Crit)

I walked into the pub and said a loud "hi" to everyone.
The barman said "Hey, come on over here and join us".
I held up both my hands as if blocking his invitation.
"No thank you bartender. I want to be alone tonight. Send me a beer over to the table in the far corner, will you?"

I went and sat down and stared at the table top as if it had become the most fascinating object in any new or old world. In reality, I did not see the numerous beer mug rings.
Yes, in reality I was seeing nothing.

When I heard the "here's your beer" I looked up and found myself staring into the eyes of an old man. He had two mugs in his hand. His smile was kind but not over friendly and not intrusive. He asked me if he could sit down.
We each silently sipped our beers and then he asked me "what colour do you think love is?"
Although I looked up in surprise, I didn't feel that his question was off beat in any way. In fact, it seemed to fit my mood in some uncanny way.
"What do I think? Let me see. I think that love is like an ocean wave that is kind of turquoise and blue. With some ultramarine and specks of gold. Depending on the light of the sun."
He nodded slowly while he said "and what do her eyes look like?"
We each took another swallow before I answered.

"Oh her eyes. They sparkle with a life's vitality and sublime joy. But it's funny. When I look into them everything changes. I begin to see her soul and I rejoice in what I see there. Then it all changes and I see into my soul all at the same time. That's when I begin to feel real happiness as I see how her soul and my soul rejoice as they share a thousand thoughts and emotions.

The old man stared at the table and held his glass towards me.
"To you, fellow traveller. I understand every word. Let's drink to that and then I have another question for you."
I nooded my head. I had begun to like strange uninvited guest.
"What do you think about when you see her lips?"
"Oh her lips. Those sweet lips. When I look at them I hear sweet sounds flow from her in songs and in poetry. Then come those words that only she can utter. Words that make me laugh and words that remind of the fun of stealing fruit from an orchard.
Then, when her lips are silent, and as I see them take up different shapes, straight or curved or even with the slightest of pouts, a part of me wishes to take her in my arms and dance. But another part of me wishes to hold her tight and press my lips to hers and learn all there is about that which I have only sensed so far."

The old man was staring gently at me while I spoke. "Why don't you tell her this?'
"No I can't. Some things are possible. Some are not."
"But surely you should tell her all this."
"Old man, you've been my friend tonight. She's from another world. She's lost to me.
Our paths will never cross. How can East ever meet West? Drink with me, old man, and let's go our separate ways. Drink with me and I'll thank you for a wonderful night."

"Yes, my son, I'll drink with you but first I must call someone."
He took a mobile from his pocket and dialled a number. After only a minute, his call was answered.
"Hello my angel. I'm very well. I'm at the Blue Dolphin. With a friend. A new one but I know him well. I want to ask you a question. I know that you won't consider it to be strange. I know you too wel and you know me too well. It's this. What colour do you think love is?"
As he completed his words, he handed the phone to me.
I listened to the sound of the most beautiful voice that I had ever heard.
"Oh Papa. You are so funny. It's so easy to answer. Love is kind of turquoise and blue. With some ultamarine..."