As we crested the hill, the city blinking
in the May night, I shook off my jacket,
swung it over my shoulder, and we twined arms,
loosened our steps downhill, then parted.
I marveled at the tulips kept by the man
who each noon bends among them,
and you marveled how bed is the place
where flowers lie. I sang a song
I couldn't shake, you sang one I hate,
and as our duel woke desire, I thought
how little I knew and never would know
more than a little.