We are a memory in someone’s eyes
unless we forget to glance where it lies.
How many evenings have we remembered
late shadows a rendezvous; we weathered
a storm of passion tasting skin envy.
Our searching mind tells tales known, every
lost moment by moonlight, when still we pause
to feel the solar tug of Nature’s cause.
For love is held in our hands in fashion
sparkling fires, tidal waves of passion,
become easy to notice, midnights glow.
Soft heart’s enter anew sweet nectar’s flow.
Such energy is fond in memory
while keeping well at bay our lunacy.