if the silence of your life
gave way to the hotel lobby
of an indie film

this is the raining frame
when night begins to blur into
a paul simon tune

streaks of taxi cab light
clear flashes of his face above yours
dark skin
red shoes running
on a wet platform

barely making a train
back to the real world

suitcase with stories to tell

hair soaking
trench coat concealing
a body sore
still shaking beside his

your hand
hiding
a smile

but helpless
to conceal
mascara tears