Wandering Thoughts #6

when every flower made him think of you,
you were the nexus of each passing thought;
but there’s no kind of universe or spot
wherein that love has any life at all

the dew is on the rose, and then it’s gone:
the dew, the rose, and e’en its memory —
but frame of reference is a hostelry
with views that change
depending on
the hall

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