Fleeting were the moments, that they could call their own.
Secretive, the rendezvous; no time to be alone.
Passionate, the contact. So hot and sweet and tense.
Liquid, the exchange... affecting every sense.

Now, losing the connection, they look back at the dream.
They question the affection that made those moments seem
The focus of obsession. As days and weeks advance
He has just one more question: "Does he have one Last Chance?"

He looks out of the window, a cityscape in view...
Is he alone? For ever? Can what he did be true?
Watching the silent sunset, he is beautiful and free.

You are out there, somewhere.

I'm here. Just me.