Her back to the corner,
A hand raised gently to her face,
Slipping away like a secret,
as the doors slide deliberately into the walls,
as they walk deliberately past.
They leave the secret to die in the elevator.
I can't find it to feed it.
I take the scrap of shame I find
and deliberately put it into my pocket.

I can smell the cold rain in her hair.
As I step outside, the spring-fed
rain slips across my skin,
gently, deliberately slicing my soul.