Classic Poem

— Yes, he was my first lover. Did I love him?
No, not as you and I make use of words.
Outside his world, below him or above him,
Remained the silences that are love's accords.
His infinite curiosity too much pried
Into that darkness which was mine alone.
Sometimes I wished that I had merely died
Before I let him think I was — his own. —
I am nobody's own; I am a being
Simple, perplexed, unhappy, like the rest;
Toward beauty turning and from boredom fleeing.
No special secret hides in this my breast.
Let us this dubious inquiry now give over. . . .
Or are you not my friend, — only my lover? —