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.