I slice a wedge of lime, slitting
the center so it holds to the glass.

I wipe the frost from the lip
of the plate with a cloth,

then touch it to my face, tenderly.
What you ordered was

specific, but you are patient
while I travel to the freezer,

searching out your favorite meal.
You are able to discern

between blue ice and blue-gray
ice with your eyes closed.

I know your habits better than
you know my name and your palate

is the bible from which I learn
my verses. How you cover

your lap with the napkin and
which bones you taste first

from the sugar skeleton,
show me that you are a gentle,

lonely person. No wonder
you pay so handsomely for

my company—you think I need
another reason to adore you.