Candles at lunch

over grilled fish and
steamed rice, we tell
stories of last night

of disconnected phone
lines, lost payment checks,
service outages, missing
bills

we laugh at our own
stories and perhaps
at ourselves

i trace my fingers on the side
of the sweating pitcher of cold
lime juice, while i smile

then you remember
something, leave the table,
returning
with a couple of small red
candles, you light them

from the corner of my mouth,
you pluck a grain of rice and
i taste it as it touches your own lips

the smell
of scented
wax at noon
we kiss