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