Losing its sea

His fingers bend

to pick out bones

A thin silver ribbon collects under his nail

In the cleave of his hands -

those lovely corners -

the fish, grilled and served with lime, finally loses its sea

The lights go out

He smiles

The restaurant is draping in his skin -

that lovely, dark, silken sheet

And I wonder if everyone else around can feel

a warm night breeze between their thighs

A generator is picking sound

People speak above their stations

Mincing lies with grains of rice

He asks me if I need anything

in that lovely gathering voice of his *sigh*

I nod my head and swallow my truth