But the perfume of memory fades still-
Or makes itself commonplace, everyday stuff
'til affection makes way for mere goodwill.
Can months of cold hold out some fervent hope
Of warmer lands that don't burn this desire
On a pyre of good sense, nor walk the tightrope
Of frayed threads, afraid of another fire?
Maybe I let hope bear folly forward
Into days of deluded ignorance;
Misread and misspoke and maybe misheard
All that would be better left to mere chance.
Serendipity, kind friend and sour foe,
You should have left us to ourselves long ago.
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