In another room.

in our hands, cunningly cupped
the key, smooth with moisture
just enough shine, to bandage the wear
just enough belief, to shroud the damage

our carefully plotted notions
perpendicular, to our pounding hearts

the twist, cool with deliberation
in our fingers, loosely clasped
an image flash, the strings of memory
projections, positioned on the table

neat and tidy, in linear rows
but hidden, from our sightless eyes

inside the door, roughly ajar
as restrained as hungry beasts
the subtle lies, we whisper to air
long enough, to halt our resignation