Would it be indiscreet? Would I be lacking in manners,
To disclose the circumstances of our habitual meetings?
Would you regard me as disrespectful of privacy?
Would my revelation betray that scarcity of moral taste?
I'll risk it and tell you: every morning we meet.
Punctual as the sunrise, and always at the same place.
I turn up half naked, disheveled and barely presentable.
And yet each acknowledges the other's presents.
The daily wink from across the abyss says: "You again?"
"Yes, me again," I nod. and each time I pledge
"We will always be friends, and shall I tell you why?
Because this relationship means as much to you as it does to me."
And it's only a friend who can say: "Your youth has fled.
Your passion is spent and you're showing your age."
This gets my hackles up. Friend or adversary? Which are you?
And I walk away from the phantom in the morning mirror.
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