My Moveable Feast

I spoon you into my mouth,
Fingers twitching
At the handle.

Tablecloth violated
By sweet little drops
And spills.

Until the moment
Of no more,
No more.

A simmering,
Singing tongue
Resting behind the teeth.

Then it goes,
And the lights
Are dimmed in the restaurant.

The waitress
Slides out out of her pump
And inspects her tired toes.

The cook rubs his forehead
Where the hairnet
Hugged him too tightly.

The sleeping dumpster
Quietly digests
The remains of the night.

The way back is long,
Through puddles and cobblestone.
The way back is so long.

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