If love is so wrapped in the past,

In a single gesture,

Or the scent of summers long gone

Her hair and skin lingering in memory

What is now?

When spring quickens again ,

A smile

Different eyes and mouth

Spark nothing but vague feeling,

So amorphous, diaphanous,

Fragile as cobweb,

Ignore it.

Today’s love cannot match past memory

Today’s sense is brittle with age and anger

Today’s touch doesn’t stir devotion

Or passion

Only the swirling ashes of fires long dead.

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