Over lattes and sandwiches
whispers become a collective hum
animated hands sound out emotions in syllables.
Words of little weight lift from our lips
while the ones of matter lie
heavy on our tongues.
Ready for escape
waiting to expose our tenderness:
“I’m sorry, I was wrong.”
“I don’t what to be alone.”
“I love you.”
“About last night – can it happen again?”
The silent space when the mouth takes in rather than offers
followed by the awkward sound of metal chair legs dragging
across concrete. Though there is the promise of next week
a hunger remains unsatisfied as goodbyes are said.