in the elevator

closed in
by walls of steel,
where bodies meet
only in the distance
between them,
eyes furtive,
looking away,
to anywhere,
to the changing numbers,
to time in-waiting,
to a love
that's suddenly stripped
to the essential,
that can be felt
but not be spoken,
because,
to speak the language
of eyes,
would mean
to look into the terror
burning the fire escapes,
to look into the waters
circling our hearts
in prayer,
beyond the steel
that confines us
and takes us to places
we go to,
but where we
never really wanted to go.