His hand on the doorknob's a little unsteady

unsure

hating his decision.

His eyes let the mirrors fall

exposing something fragile

puppy-dog eyes.

0

He's giving all the right signs.

She's not blind;

but she doesn't need this in her life.

And her hand's a little bit shaky

unsure

but loving her decision.

0

And we know she'll be out on the corner tonight

where cold-cut stars glare down their celestial noses

reminiscent of his eyes before the mirrors fell.

And another man saunters like a pleased peacock and asks “How 'bout it?”

Her answer reflects her past thoughts reverse.

“Sure.”

And hating the decision.