My last love stepped off the bus and onto the walk
among so many I did not know
whom I recognized not


And yet what lives do they lead that I miss out on?
with their own losses and triumphs
are they heroes or not?


The answer should be obvious, last love, like you
like a tempest that freezes the skin
and you remember not


the touch of summer on tender bodies, in the wake
of waves and seabreeze that so solemnly
wash the flesh and not


The mind, the raking of your voice, last love, leads
and beckons to the end, away from all
yet these others know not


The danger of you, last love, nor I their last loves,
shall we keep these secrets to ourselves
forever safe: trust not


the ones who reveal any minuate of your cruelty
and you will walk past, like a tiger
with enough meat for now.