XXI. LAST MORNING It is our last morning. You rise up from the whiteness of the bed like a breaking wave. You move about the room. I watch the sleek movements of your naked body, smile at the force of energy so happily coursing through you. It is springtime in Prague. I am your illicit lover, your graying back door man. You are the radiant dawn, the white core of my being; you are my sanctuary. In time we will leave this room and walk out into the cobblestoned streets, begin our journey away from one another. Sighing, I will get on a slow train heading west. For now we are here together, naked, and my eyes, as always, are upon you. You move slowly, every motion you make, every gesture you give away designed for my pleasure. We will stay here awhile and let the curtain of love come down. We will lose ourselves in one another, in the mirror, one last time. When I leave your scent will be tangled in my senses, and I will carry you with me forever.   Toronto, Spring 1995