Sitting with you is like dining with an old lover. We embrace each other from across the table with a long, silent gaze. Words, dialogue, small talk, sounds we make to fill the silence are all no longer necessary.
I’m more acquainted with you then with the object of my longing. Objects are fleeting, but this longing, baby, we can last and last.
But recently my love affair with you seems to dwindle. Our eyes shift to the couples seated nearby as we eat our meals in stiff silence. Before you wrapped me up in your whirlwind and I felt kissed in your directionless delirium. Now, that wind stirs the hair framing my face and I sit, motionless, watching you from across the table, and wondering for something more substantial.