Agoraphobic love.

Hoar'se.
She lost the poem,
lashing out so hurt to a point she no longer cared. Ignoring every word.
Turning to my hide she struck the last blow I would bare.
Our eyes would burn each other until the day tears put out the fire filling the tub.
Then my umbrella came down, touch containing the head banging, having spun in its last dance through the crowd, and I leant on it like borrowing a child's coat.
Finally I returned home to a remote city.