I couldn’t think my lunch a blurred thought

I couldn’t think, my lunch a blurred thought,

as the echo across the table sliced through,

the loud crunching, piercing comfort, sharp—

you held that sandwich with such focus,

each bite a gravity pulling down the air,

a rhythm of jaws meeting, teeth dancing,

like a metronome ticking just for me,

while the grease pooled on the plate,

half-eaten remnants of chatter,

disappearing in the gravity of lunch hour.

The crunch and munch, a symphony of sound,

each chew a reminder of life unfolding,

sometimes it's mundane, simple, yet profound,

like the rhythm of flesh, the pulse of the day—

a laughter muted, each bite swallowed whole,

while I wondered about the weight of silence,

what thoughts lingered in those pauses between

the motions of bites, the smiles that followed.