(I puff and the candle goes out like
Fire needs a little oxygen to burn but
Too much air at once and it dies I guess we
All need a little poison to survive)

Every morning we've come to this
Nice little coffee-shop to
Discuss the redundant weather and
Conversations about the color pink and words like
'Exquisite'
We sip nothingness through straws out of
Empty cups and give orders to a waitress who
Could really care less. 
You say something but I wasn't listening and
I miss it so I smile because I predict (correctly) it would have been a joke
Or something meant to pull a laugh out of my core which is probably one of
your more esteemed
Hobbies

(I cover my eyes and say
'Guess if I'm pretty'
You say 'What do you mean?'
I say 'Look at this picture
And tell me what you see'
You say 'Baby, I love you'
I say 'That's not what I'm asking'
You say 'What ARE you asking?'
I say 'Never mind')

Yeah I folded and re-folded my napkin and
Pushed my food around on my plate and
You grinned crookedly and together
We pretended that we enjoy eating like
Food isn't an enemy but a delicious little friend - 
The bus-boy comes to clean our dishes
Immaculate with untouched meals and
I blink like I just stepped out into the sun after
Years in an emotional prison
And maybe I did - 
You cup your hand over mine on the table and together we
Focus our eyes on the thick-glass cup between us
Full to overflow with
Ice cubes and a little melted water
Leaking in a ring from the bottom
Over the shiny, scratched wood
I glance down at the plate in my hands with
Disgust or fear at the fat pale noodles all
Tangled up like a medusa pile in the middle of all this
Smooth white porcelain.

(Last night I talked in my sleep again
For the second hour in a row and she says I whispered
'Corn, sweet corn, silk, chocolate-ice-cream-cake'
And to quote Cinderella -  
'A dream is a wish your heart makes')

He's added tomato sauce and carrots
He says they're so good I'll just
Die
And I probably will but
He reaches for the salt shaker and
I yank my hands away before they can further contaminate me
The entire dinner is orange and though
I've selected the smallest piece of bread available something tells me
They expect me to
Eat it all .
I shrink back behind my book and wonder
Who else feels like this or maybe it's just me a
Personal thing
I watch someone across the room
Attacking her dish like it's something exciting and beautiful and
I wonder what it would be to feel like that all over again.

(I'm like a young woman with a newborn baby
Who keeps biting the hand that feeds it but
Just imagine if you were the mother and the child
Because I
Am)

The scale needle slides and
Clings to just-another-higher-number like
I'm approaching three digits and
It frightens me more than it should
I probably should have stayed at our
Mutual
Habitual little diner until at least
The check came and we could ooh and
Ahh over the lack of a price on our emptiness and the
Absence of a label on our diets of
Fire and water
You twist my wrist and act like it would take any convincing to make me
Chew and swallow because
My mind understands what I can and cannot do and my
Heart is playing my ribcage like drums
Percussion turns me on I can't
Help myself so
Deal with me and maybe someday I'll
Come back and climb through the window into your kitchen
Where steam threatens to burn us like the food crusted to your
Stove-top.

(I'm rubber you're glue
you attach yourself to me at the hip and
I try to run away but I can
only shake and become more entangled between your
figurative fingers)

 ~ Elyse