Maybe, it is the way the door opens
with a grudge
unwelcome, to the cold.
it is the way I ran to get here in the first place.
it is this formality of an embrace.
It could be the touch of our hands
like water drops in a hot pan.
Or this sense of an awkward interview
with no follow up.
Or this yell of unspoken words.
Once more, this clap of an embrace.
But the ground again rushes beneath my feet
and the parting image of your back
never belies that black diamond
streaking down your cheek alone.