Train Doors

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Just as they were about to board the train
two passengers kissed each other farewell.
It was insentient the way they held hands,
the sweetness and the heat combined
wearing thin like old paint on the bars.
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Perhaps it was not forever, this missing,
this lingering memory of a warm embrace.
The proximity could never be replaced
by the multitude of people crammed
behind the red demarcation on the floor.
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Perhaps this was not a bid of farewell
like a pair of punched out train tickets
swept away by the cleaning man's broom.
There was space left only for one,
the silent argument at a greater expanse.
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With a loud shrill, the door closes.
It is, a step back to being stangers.
Perhaps it doesn't matter to which side
this lingering memory of a kiss remains
when two people are divorced by train doors.
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