Chewing Loud Enough to Hear

The bite cracks through the air—too loud,

a chomp that cuts like gravel underfoot.

Each smack a hammer

driving nails into the thin skin of silence.

Across the table, the rhythm churns,

sticky, slow, an unwanted beat

that settles in the teeth of the room,

crunching moments that never mend.

I count the chews like mistakes,

sticky sounds that stick to my ribs.

The silence breaks between us

with every wet, stubborn crush,

like a storm rolling heavy

through a glass too fragile to hold it.