What will happen then, when drained of all our might,
We fall on pillows—two torches burned by night?
Will sleep embrace us after passion’s storm,
Entwined as one, bathed in the moon’s soft form?

Will you smile gently, like a child with sweets,
Or tease once more, still craving fresh repeats?
Will you obey my heart’s discreet command,
And make me trust the fables you have planned.?

Will your hand travel slowly, down my brow,
Lost in the lines that time has etched somehow?
Will you lay your curls, in tender disarray,
Upon my chest, and softly there you’ll stay?

Or will you laugh, a secret on your face:
“Between us two, there is no binding trace.
What was remains a fleeting happenstance—
You walk your path, and I another chance.”

You’ll say it all was nothing but a flaw,
That longing fades like colds we’ve had before.
You’ll pull your coat and hurry from my sight—
Your steps dissolve in fog before first light.