In the Fathomless Sunset of Waiting

When you tell me sometimes…
that at our next meeting—
you will touch your lips to my forehead…
let your memory gather in my tears…
turn away to glimpse my wounded pride…
hold my sighs close to your chest…
keep my breath within your pulse…
weave your touch into my soul…
across my body there will be
only your claim—
I cannot understand…what to say then!
How to look at you!
How deep an embrace to bind you with!
I only know—
perhaps this will be our final meeting.

Whether you want distance, I do not know;
I do not know either—
if my habit of staying close to you…
troubles you or not!

Yet when you suddenly say with a pale face—
we will meet again soon…

Will you come?
Or will you leave me waiting?