41/365
October 22, 2011
It is a remnant from our last supper,
I am begging for it to stay.
Your dismissive discourse shakes
that crumb dangling on the stubble
at the corner of your lips.
You slap your tongue against
your cheek, make your skin tremble
with the clomping of your teeth.
I am akin to this foreign crumb–
unwanted, but pressed against you,
knee to knee beneath the table for warmth.
Your frequency is not right, your mouth too vacuous,
when your muscles silence and your body stills
the appetizer bread bit tumbles to your lap.
You look at me awaiting response.
I raise my fingernails to trace my lip,
finding no crumbs of my own
I stand up, laughing manic, and leave.
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