by Leonard M Hawkes
Though I left, I felt you linger--
That nurturing need of the soul--
But I sensed too a certain sorrow--
Or did honesty make it so?
“From years ago,” I seemed, you said,
And now, “not enough,” you confessed.
But "anonymity," I strove to feign,
And you, "a private life" maintained.
But the fondness then was reciprocal,
And sweet and thick and—sincere?
Warmth again from a plundered spring,
Which we now, neither one, dared to name.
Author's Note: On a random and awkward encounter.
Posted on 03/05/2016
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