Her shoulder blades
as she slices a tomato.
I sit at the table
tapping my spoon to my heart beat.
Her hips sway as salt, pepper, and cilantro
meet diced tomatoes, onions, and peppers.
Click, click, click, click
The small of her back arches as
she struggles to squeeze a lemon
the way it does when I run my hand down her spine.
The tops of her shoulders become glazed with juice,
like those moments after our late nights