Dining under red ceiling lights–
We place our cutlery as moth wings,
pinion like with green bills.

You and I could be crocodiles or crows
with no young to feed,
only scarlet mouths for one another.

We’ll wear padded hangers
as necklaces and let our tongues
wad where they wish.

We continue our agreement of
non-disclosure, with cement
and salted hands.

Cutlery thuds the table
in beats like wings,
and we devour.

Originally published in White Wall Review 41 (2017)