plate

two glasses, one plate

-shared as there’s only one plate.

brown eyes catch brown eyes,

gazes cut through the air as if in a trance

snared in an invisible dance

together under moonlight

brown hands ensnare black hair- softly, ever sweetly

it feels like no time is passing

a vacuum- a portal?

they forget to breathe.

no need to speak…

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their bodies talked it out the night before

it’s Sunday morning now and-

the stereo is still on;

the dog is ready to be let in;

the tea is waiting to be brewed,

& eggs- you know how she likes them scrambled easy.

you remember to breathe and you do so deeply…

turn over into sleep warm blankets;

close your eyes;

let the stereo play;

it’s Sunday.

[it’s only one plate]