Lime They pass in each direction. A chorus of smoke and tartan fingernails coiling into each other gently on every platform between us. One sits in the wrinkles of two hands living one life together. She smiles as he folds his newspaper from thumb to thumb and lays it down against the nape to turn into her and whisper. I leave them in the quiet causeway of her laughter and his single white lily he sets on her lap. My eyes fade through the glass, drifting across fields of lime trees and fallen power lines holding us apart. I liked who I was with you.