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.