I cracked it open
with both hands
hot shell, sweet steam,
juice slipping down my wrist.

You just stared,
didn’t even pretend
not to.

I tugged the meat out slow,
all in one long piece
soft, warm.

I dipped it in butter
so golden it looked sinful
and took a bite.

You exhaled
like that was the first breath
you’d taken all night.

The table was quiet
except for the sound
of my fingers
working through armor
to get to the good stuff.

You looked at me
like you knew
exactly how this was going to end
and maybe
you weren’t wrong.