Too Close though the Subway was the Same as Always

For in you I do feel that statements may turn true.
"The body is the shelter; the body is the house."

Once at a home, two figures turned slowly in dance,
though there was no one to remember it but them.

Perhaps we become bolder through our sighs and rasps.
There is, of course, the look I will give you upon hearing them.

And there are, on the melancholic train rides like this one,
more puzzle pieces than the space in open hands, minds.

A screech lets loose like a feline growl all around the cars,
my ears moved to subsistence, morphed to metallic shields.

As I heard your large male friend speak so loud, telling you
to get off at that stop, where you will wait, telling you to

go straight home where you will wait, and where then later
he will arrive to pound himself into you again, and again--

damn! There is always a third form, though it may come
as distance and not until later, to dwell through fatigue.

Before I left, you gathered and stood up to a second dance.
It must have happened as I was getting in, taking off my coat.