"pass the salt",

she says...

he reaches, above the stove

and passes it to her,

their fingers touching for a moment.

standing silently,

Watching her slowly carve the steak

thin delicate slices,

methodically salted,

and eaten slowly.

 his cigarette,

momentarily forgotten

begs to him,

and he inhales,

feeling the hot rush of warm smoke

fill his lungs.

there is no rush in this place,

he is content

she is content

the fun will start later

as he slowly,

sips his beer

later he will have her

or she will have him

but for now

there is no rush

just the soft sound

of the fan above

and muffled traffic

below