Two cups of coffee
- unsweetened - untouched
sit on the table, smiling,
between us

chair legs creaking
like old bones
as we pull away
from each other

hands crossed
cracked from washing
with bleach at midnight,
breaks in the middle of
meetings and meals

the table is glass
and when the light
hits it we have no
choice but to look
at each others
eyes

desperate, passive,
almost dead

I can see the words
sticking in his throat
but I'm not going
to help him set
them free

he can ask
me

Is it over
now?