Crumbs and flakes of crust linger in the cupped hand. So many shavings offer no future but the past gesture redone. His glance pauses over flakes of crust and crumb. She readies herself redefining the shadows. Their proximity is sweet and salt. He held the wheel. She could recall the change in grip. As sweet is to tip, back is to bitter. For salad, the greens kiss the raspberry that dressing drizzled. He drank chocolate. The slosh of bitter burned the sugar to an aftertaste. She had seen the jaw react in that space in the intersection of cheek bone, temple and eye corner. This she had connected to a tightening. After a time the tip again came.