by Chloe Jacobs

1.
We work in silent tandem as I,
A spray of warm citrus,
work open skin and you
Lick sugared History from your spoon

2.
“I mean, is it worth it?”
As I work life back into my hands,
you, the sheen of rain on a cheekbone,
nod towards them, long limb over short.
“Maybe”

3.
Stolen milk dilutes my tea as you,
a joke under a fold of plastic, recline,
and he, a blossom-fall of neon post-it notes,
smiles, hard.