In The Air (a villanelle)

Your tie hanging on the back of my chair.
Your fingers graze the buttons on your shirt.
A dark hand running through my hair.

Clothes scattered leave you bare
Lying on the floor deserted and hurt.
Your tie hangs on the back of my chair.

Mystery and nerves hang in the air.
I look away, I don’t want to revert.
A dark hand running through my hair.

It feels too good to even care
Forgetting the secrets buried in the dirt.
Your tie hanging on the back of my chair.

Who could forgive? Not even in the house of prayer.
The gossip spins and blurts.
A dark hand running through my hair.

We’re all told life isn’t always fair
and good people are often hurt.
Your tie still hangs on the back my chair.
and your dark hand runs through my hair.