TO A STRANGER...
Passing stranger! You do not know how longingly I look upon you,
You must be he I was seeking, or she I was seeking, (it comes to me as of a dream,)
I have somewhere surely lived a life of joy with you,
All is recall'd as we flit by each other, fluid, affectionate, chaste, matured,
You grew up with me, were a boy with me or a girl with me,
I ate with you and slept with you - your body has become not yours only nor left my body mine only,
You give me the pleasure of your eyes, face, flesh, as we pass - you take of my beard, breast, hands, in return,
I am not to speak to you - I am to think of you when I sit alone or wake at night alone,
I am to wait - I do not doubt I am to meet you again,
I am to see to it that I do not lose you.
Walt Whitman (1819-1892)
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