The tremble of your lips grasping at the idea of sound, of sentences.
What is there to share, what to make of secrets?
The soft, swift, brief touch of our knees,
The recoil that follows immediately.
The pattering of your voice over the chatter of the shop
making the mundane a private, intimate affair.
The way you shifted in your seat next to me,
Concerned with the space you and I and we were occupying.
The tentative nature of your suggestions,
How you watched and waited for me to lead.
