I bought a candle then some thread

I bought a candle, then some thread,

and watched the small brass button roll,

a tiny coin of silent dread

or triumph, taking its soft toll.

It bounced, a glint upon the floor,

beneath the rack, a hidden gleam.

The girl behind the counter, poor

thing, never broke her sales-talk dream.

My foot, it moved, a casual slide,

a slight adjustment, nothing grand.

My purse, a gaping maw inside,

then felt its cool weight in my hand.

A stupid thing, a piece of brass,

no real worth, just a shiny round.

But when the moment came to pass,

no accusation could be found.

It sits now, in a ceramic dish,

with paperclips and ancient keys.

A quiet, granted, guilty wish,

a breath I steal among the trees.

And sometimes, when the light is low,

I touch its smooth, cold, silent face.

A secret no one has to know,

just me, and this forgotten place.