..through some shifted frames

Passing stranger, you do not know how longingly I look upon you, 

You must be he I was seeking, or she I was seeking, it comes to me as if in a dream..

I have somewhere surely lived a life of joy with you,
All is recalled as we flit by each other, fluid, affectionate, chaste, matured.  

You grew up with me, were a boy with me or a girl with me,
I ate with you and slept with you, 

Your body has become not yours only, nor left my body mine only,

You give me the pleasure of your eyes, face, flesh, as we pass,
You take of my face, breast, hands in return..

I am not to speak to you, I am to think of you when I sit alone
or wake at night alone. 

I am to wait, I do not doubt I am to meet you again,
I am to see to it that I do not lose you.

 

   To A Stranger

- by Walt Whitman