I wonder, looking at me:
Do they expect I shall be
their image fixed of this street?
Such to minds privy discreet?
It can be other surmise.
Thus alone, I'm no way wise,
able to guess or to know
the looks that goad us to glow.
I wait, wandering in lies:
What's in the light or their eyes,
that wordless passing must sate?
Stay here and wait for my mate.
Yet of s/he or me inside
would out but never betide?
