Melodious sighs
hide between
the running faucets
resembling the sound of great
waterfalls.
The ridicule
of people preparing
to kiss themselves
in glossy mirrors
is evident
as the faucet water continues
to drip
unnoticed
and run down the rusty drain
wearily.
The beating
of the water,
thumping and trickling
on the drain,
matches the
rhythm
of pointed heels
on the mosaic tiles
underneath your weary feet.
I listen
with my breath held,
my eyes closed,
and the faucet running
as the chimes,
clicks
and clacks
echo down the hall.
Ec h o,
your feet go.
Ec h o-ing.
You
are
Going,
going,
Gone.
