The Eighth Shadow

The music stopped,

but the echo stayed a second too long.

In the floor-to-ceiling glass,

between the sweat and the neon hum,

I counted eight reflections

for a room that only held seven.

A flicker in the corner,

a door that clicked without a hand,

and the sudden, sharp chill

that had nothing to do with the AC.

We didn't look back;

we just danced a little faster,

pretending the empty space

wasn't dancing along.