Dinnertime

We could be seated across from one another,
and she could--suddenly--place both her palms
flat on the table,
the muscles in her arm twitching slightly in anticipation.
And I could give a start, and a second later
(or not even that)
the adrenaline is going, amplifying my heart and lungs.
And she could ache to grasp my face
in her right hand.
And my thighs could get numb or tense, I can't tell which.
And she could stand up, pull me up by my shoulders--
push me backwards by them--
all the while, hissing, "Look. At. Me."
And I could have no idea where we're going,
and I could think, oh god, the coathooks--

And we could slam against the wall.
Time to eat.