The Sand And The Silt

For dinner
We eat measured silence,

We sip on hushed regret
Between the chewing

And push questions
To the sides of our plates.

We digest very little
And smile even less.

To think we once let our tongues
Unravel and tickle,

Nowadays
We’re just sweet thoughts
And guilt,

An old empty restaurant
All hidden and lost,

The cost of progression,
The sand and the silt.

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