Chivalrous stairwells hadn't any doors
She and he
stood in hallways and in the frames of open doors.
The walls smelt as moist as they were to the touch.
And hardly was there an occasion, where one or the other
shared a moments notice.
Never was there a care to share the air, or exchange places.
Blank stares would follow each other as they'd waltz
up the winding stairs.
In times of morning light, steps were taken to trace
after the early shadows, often times to the front stoop
where the daily post would be waiting.
Hardly fair it may seem that the two could weave such
a tapestry without the burdens of costumes and space makers.
It was a sparse abode, but neither took note because the
doorbell was often chiming.
Tennae Maki is a weekend writer that works for an architecture firm.