Hall

so this is where we stand
on marble floors beneath vaulted celiling
with our hearts in our hands

like pennies to throw in fountains
but they won't sink they just
float there as the water turns red and we wonder what mistakes were made
that could have led us along the worn path to this hall where we stand,
putting on a brave face, trying to control our trembling hands
connected to the bodies i brush against
the friction a minor discomfort on the path to the fountain
where i'll bathe in bloodied water just to wash away your scent