Faulty filter,
fully-functional.
He waits for her
(poised and punctual):
Ascent-dependent;
she drowns on air,
aloof, alert
she hides in hair.
Her lines, off-putting
hollow hymns
of mind onfoot with
phantom limbs.
She garners courage
on the stairs,
and peeks upon
his lone affairs.

His untapped rhythm
beats persistent,
caged by ribs, but
closing distance.
It gives a pacing
to her thoughts
in lilting measures:
all or naught.
His feet can feel her
on the stairs.
"Only enter,
he who dares."

Waiting for her
near her door,
the floor won't meet her heels.
His fate, yet to be sealed.