When the Centrifuge Winds Down
The butterflies flew off some weeks ago.
Pools of blood from my pierced heart have dried up.
My feelings leak insignificant flow -
I no longer drink from passion's sweet cup.
Still, you must realize that love never dies,
for it derives from more than skittish heart.
My soul and my eyes could never disguise -
I still hope that our story soon might start.
Tamer, now - fire, somewhat softer - desire,
but, for all that, hardly less strong or true.
I've guessed from first glance - your face - angel's choir!
I still think it could be right - me and you.
I'll admit - sometimes I taste fear in wait.
But love is patient ... I submit to fate.
6 May 2023
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