He avoided the plague of thinking;
ignoring the bruises and wounds
she gifted to him,
beneath his pillow.
Gliding silently towards his exit,
she looked back to see his arms reaching out -
for her and she blew a kiss
[to the cabbie]
His nose wrinkled at the disturbance,
hand over heart, it was as if
he protected himself from her,
whimpering from the quiet ruffle of silk.
He reached again [for nothing]
and slept on,
guarding the scent of her hair
on his cheeks.
She walked out, stumbling through corridors
of photographed facades
and told herself it didn't matter.
Remorse was built over pedestals of pride,
never a backward look,
never a stolen kiss -
just propelling to move forward
and leave him behind.
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