Your Ephemera

Little things you cannot see,

A moonbeam dance, a sapling tree,

Will vanish if you tarry longer,

The calven cow will grow ever stronger;

For, in the instance of the mind,

Your intelligence may not be hard to find,

But your electric bursts do fail

To live on after they’ve swept their tail

Across your thoughts-

And memories are not iron-wrought;

Words, affairs of state

(Perchance my typing at this rate),

Whilst unable to be swept away,

The rumours fast do not stay;

There’s no replay upon my lips,

You cannot mimic my fingertips,

So every touch that your receive

Should be cherished and there perceived

To be the only thing remaining

If our love is left, still-draining;

Listen to the words I say,

Even in the times my heart is led astray,

Forgive me if I speak too rash

And say that your heart is made of tats;

My fury it too will not last,

And just as panes are made of glass,

The broken soul will be patched up,

And when that’s done, I beg you, love,

To comfort me, a lonely fair,

Whose dreams are ephemera;

They will not last into the night,

Just as you will not remember the plight

Of a changing woman’s sighs,

As the evening slowly dies.

The End

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