Poem – Unclaimed 

To make love with a stranger is the best.
There is no riddle and there is no test. —
To lie and love, not aching to make sense

Of this night in the mesh of reference.
To touch, unclaimed by fear of imminent day,

And understand, as only strangers may.
To feel the beat of foreign heart to heart

Preferring neither to prolong nor part.
To rest within the unknown arms and know

That this is all there is; that this is so.