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Dinner He asked if I was hungry I wasn't, but I wanted to watch him eat. I wanted to sit across the table, let words spill like wine between us, drop like pebbles into deep water. I wanted to see him touch the cup, make small smiles around the knife and fork. I wanted to hold my own thoughts, reflected in crystal, poised at the edge of a plate, waiting for a hand on the back of the chair, his fingers at the nape of my neck. ©Jana Russ |