green eyes has good teeth,
i should’ve been a dentist, he jokes.
seat mere feet from seat, four palms
two occupied with frosty clinking glasses,
(no salt on yours, he says, freeing one palm with a grin)
he takes off his rimmed glasses and wipes them,
“you look nice without those,” i say, he smiles.
your eyes were brown indoors and hazel in the sun,
your legs were short,
your shoulders, your gaze
cast towards your small quick feet,
your words sped when our tension thickened,
sludge-like with the absence of words until
our bodies found their ways to separate places.