They don’t speak
just smiles staring at each other—
only hands moving
a slow reach
the loud lush red of an apple
passing between them.

One bite
then another—
the crisp snap
the plush juice slipping
down her chin
wiped away without thought.

She leans in
for one more bite
as her hands disappear
between her legs—
she leans in closer—
she stretches her back forward—
as vulnerable as a lure.

He leans in
with the last piece of apple
between his lips.

They share it like time,
no rush, no measure—
a rhythm known in the way they dance,
in the way a pause turns into a spark.

The last bite
his hand slides in
fingers brush—
more than enough to notice,
but just enough to say everything
without a word.