We ate late, always-
dinner a meal of plucked observations
as much to titillate as to taste.

We devoured each other, always-
before dessert added too much sweetness
to our combative copulations.

Sometimes I pressed my mouth
so hard against your lips
that you’d have to swallow your own words.

Sometimes

when we weren’t hungry
we’d sit in the back of the darkness, in silence,
running our hands along each other’s bodies

to see if that made it any easier
to hear what the other was trying to say.

All words and photographs by Damien B Donnelly