Maybe it was not for us
to sit at the porch,
nursing our drinks,
watching the sunset…
Maybe it was not for us
to get a tray with coffee,
marmalade, and toast
in the early mornings,
maybe it was not for us
to fight over the paper,
maybe it was not for us
to celebrate anniversaries
with dinner under candlelight.
What was for us was the frenzy
of passion in its full pathos,
the total loss of ourselves,
the oblivion of climaxes,
falling into a vortex of desire
to emerge scarred by it all
and walk among rushing crowds,
carrying our unfolded secret,
that never-dying joy at each other’s existence.
