You sit across the table
Not looking at my hand
Which rests upon formica
Revealing upturned palm
Not looking at my hand
Which rests upon formica
Revealing upturned palm
Sweated glass of water
Drip-stained coffee cups
Congealed fat drops on a dish
Witness us discuss our love
Your words amid the clatter
Of cheap silverware and plates
Fall in with that background
In an undistinguished way
I see you catch the server’s eye
A check in tray arrives
You reach into a pocket
Your lips form in a smile
You answer your own question
Deciding how I am
We rise and leave the restaurant
You never touch my hand.