Holding my hand with blooming passion
and smiling widely in a peculiar fashion,
he says: 'Last question, my friend?';
Reverberating pulses through me he sent.
'Kind stranger, there's nothing more I'd like to know;
all else you might say, will make you a foe.'
And I saw his lust fading away,
his weariness shining in the break of day.
I bid goodbye and watched him go
with eyes glum; did not cry, though
'cuz I know I'll see him again,
soon, in this life or the next.