The Table

Such a simple movement that makes us feel as though we are connected.

We move fluidly; reading each other’s bodies in silence as we work.

Comfortable understanding wraps around us and it is as though we are dancing.

You watch my hands lift; I make sure to avoid your feet.


As we move, do you feel the energy flowing between us?

Our eyes do not meet; I make sure not to glance at you for fear of what I will see.

You’ve been clear in your decision; I do not agree.

Feel this? Feel how easily we settle into a rhythm of tandem acceptance?


Taciturn desire to clasp each other grows and swells.

It fills the area between us and I grow hot with the knowledge of what we both want.

Lifting and stepping, holding and moving, your hands work together with mine.


Our breath starts to labor with the weight of what we hold between us.

Is that a metaphor for our emotional burden and restraint?


Calmly, we set the table down and feel the moment end.

We each take a deep breath and glance at each other.

I see your eyes flash and know that I wasn’t imagining the chemistry of our silent interaction.

It was so simple and so deep that I yearned to place my hands on the table and lean over it,

And beg you once more to rethink, to reconsider, to let go of your fear and join me.


We turn away from each other, synonymous with our everyday actions.






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