I’m curious about his life, and yet
whenever I converse with him in mind,
I’m talking of myself, and I forget
to ask him questions.
If he were assigned
the task of interviewing me for print,
the Q & As would follow naturally,
but we’re not that – there ought to be a glint
of lust or like for who he is in me.

My heart was happy on the day we met
by accident – my mood was high and fond.
Enchanted by quick questioning, I let
a scant acquaintance intimate beyond
its range, transmogrifying gleam from seem,
when what I feel in fact is self-esteem.