Tongue-tied over twisted, oily noodles, I lick my lips and click my tongue.
Tongue-tied over words I never said. The noodles are too oily.
It’s the attention. It’s getting to me.
The slippery strands of dough collected on my fork, I make the mistake of locking eyes with you.
I’m not denying they are sweet and succulent; I see specks of calm blue in your eyes; acceptance and kindness.
There’s something fiery about it, maybe it’s from the hot peppers or maybe it’s the glare that sending shivers down my spine. I love it and hate it at the same time.
The noodles are spicy; my tongue burning, my lips stinging. I see the overpowering black, a a long gaze as if telling me- think twice.
I sniffle, splutter, sip, hope for the expensive red juice to cool my insides. But the passion overpowers every one of my five senses, and it’s simply all-consuming.
I dab my lips with a limp napkin.
But to no avail.
I lock eyes with you and hope for the best.
You’ve got me tongue-tied over words I never said.
