On the stairs

As I was going down those ill-famed stairs
you were coming in the door, and for a second
I saw your unfamiliar face and you saw mine.
Then I hid so you wouldn’t see me again, and you
hurried past me, hiding your face,
and slipped inside the ill-famed house
where you couldn’t have found sensual pleasure any more 
than I did.
And yet the love you were looking for, I had to give you;
the love I was looking for—so you tired,
knowing eyes implied—you had to give me.
Our bodies sensed and sought each other;
our blood and skin understood.
But, flustered, we both hid ourselves. 

C.P. Cavafy (1863-1933)

Just before I found you

I looked back

... and as I followed your steps

... looked back again

and was downstairs before I realized (no dream)

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