We take our dinners in groups,
in rectangle booths
and face to face-
I put my foot down,
know to find yours
and scrape the ankle,
calf, and stop
at the thigh. I won't look
you in the eye, but I imagine
your fork, hovering at
your lip, quivering
like an excited child
with a secret.

But at lunch, alone,
you and I are approached
with a new shape,
not a triangle with its
implications but
a table for four
where we'll share
a corner and sidelong glances,
unaware of our bodies
moving towards each other,
our hinged knees knocking,
making points
in our circle talk.

11/02/2003

Posted on 11/03/2003
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