Vestibules are all one gets to see
As even self must grope through darkened rooms.
Love allows less light than one assumes,
Ever too constrained for clarity.
Nor does one find much light in ecstasy,
''Tis neither more nor less than what one is
Staring back at one with alien eyes.
Deep beneath a flame that comes and goes
A darkness waits that''s neither hers nor his,
Yet is to share when both run out of lies.