We chat, inconsequential—your upcoming work shift, my day
It’s not often our schedules align in this small space

I sit at the counter fighting with boxes meant for Friday’s recycling
And it’s mere happenstance that I look up
Right as you bend over to check your bubbling pot on the stovetop

Your shirt is old and meant for comfort—a little loose, and short
It rides up slightly, exposing a loveliness I never knew existed
The soft curves of your back, your waist

And I think

Ah.
I get it, now.