Last night I was with people.
Among them was one whom I knew little, a new face to be
known, a pretty little one, in fact. I talked to her, lines
here and there, and got to know the outer shell. I thought
about this newfound creature, and weighed the thoughts of
inner taste.

I saw then the flash of light which always has been known,
that situation where you know, the person not, but the crave
indeed, that creature was a shining feature, lighting a dim
light in the midst of deathly cold.

In the cold I sat there watching, peering, learning,
thinking.
Noticed how I've gone this far,
Down a road not existent,
Thinking how it is so hollow,
Not having such road to follow.

She was just a whore, she said,
Turned around and walked away.
Light did flicker as it might,
Then it withered, and it died.