In the evening's glow,
your lips tightly closed,
you say, "There are only fifteen minutes left,"
meaning the sorrow has already begun.
"We might be apart for ten or a hundred years;
we must be thousands, ten-thousand miles apart."
But then you smile playfully
showing your real age.
You say, "I forgot to say even the one sentence."
I say, "Yes, you seem to have forgotten that one sentence."
We never got around to that sentence all evening;
but before we'd noticed, anyway, the sun set in silence.