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
It’s transitioning to a place that needs it.
Maybe so. It’s a nice thought.
Maybe the love is always there… Even when it’s presence is not felt by us… -TJ
Yes. I could see that.