Our eyes barely meet
as we pace to the door.
You're walking me,
or perhaps I escort you,
the longest hall a third stranger,
familiarizing itself with the echo of our footsteps.
We don't linger by the sofa
nor the kitchen table,
blushing silently under that newly laid shroud.

As I reach for the knob
I can feel you smile, just so,
and finally ask,
quietly wavering in afterthought,
"And who are you?"