The souls of my black shoes
with lovely drawings on the sides and
indecisive shoe laces are being rubbed
to pieces, by a force controlled only
when you aren’t as close as you are.

Clanking metal pounding my eardrums
into hearing the silence of panic;
a fluttering of butterfly wings
blinding my vision.

I don’t want to walk down
this crowed hall— weaving around
crowds of people— having exchanges
where no one speaks;

You being one of them
with a laugh like wind chimes
and eyes like translucent glass.

I will look at you
all day with the same thought—
I wouldn’t like to admit it—
I could introduce myself
to you a thousand times
and it wouldn’t make a difference.

So I’ll leave you with no hello
and walk backwards alone.