He loved to watch her eat...it was a rarity given how distances kept them apart so when together the priority was in being as close as possible to each other and that was usually frowned upon in restaurants. But the occasion did occur and he remembered each time how much he enjoyed it...
the delicate hold of the fork, the arc movement of her arm to bring her hand towards her mouth, the slight opening of it and the quick disappearance of the food...her slight chew and then the process would repeat itself....she would usually move the napkin across her lips despite not needing to and fold it neatly in her lap...she was a very tidy eater, a very dainty one.
Sometimes, not often, she would answer a question or speak slightly with the food in the corner of her cheek, as if to emphasize a point or utter a laugh...this was usually when eating pizza or other hand-held food, sitting on the trunk of his car in the parking lot of a beach or something like that...the normal courtesies of restaurant etiquette thrown away. Kissing her after a bite of a taco, tasting the food on her lips, a closed-mouth kiss that usually was drawn up in a smile. Food rarely connected them but when it did it was memorable...a private party. The table with the view...a quiet corner when the noise was mostly the sound of a utensil against china...they could eat in silence, enjoying the private space.
Half of watching her eat was to enjoy her devouring something, even if devoured in the slowest most congenial manner...like the food had long surrendered and accepted its fate to find itself upon her tongue, gliding past her teeth until they clenched and became minced and silenced down her throat.
He particularly enjoyed when she loved the dish...her head slightly forward as if to get closer...a little more frequency with the fork, more quietness in the conversation...when looking up her eyes were shining and there might even be a bit of the sauce or the juice or whatever liquid was immersed alighting on her chin. She would smile, embarrassed...the napkin coming up again.
Mostly though he just loved watching her mouth...a mouth he knew...a mouth that was responsive...a mouth that when troubled was a taut thin line...when saddened turned down and maybe shivering in a cry...but in a certain quiet moment, when her mouth was upon his he could feel her energy...her cascading warmth...and if her mouth dare parted slightly he knew exactly what it was like to be devoured.
She looked up from her food.
What? she said, sitting down her fork.
Nothing...he replied...nothing at all.
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