Seems a life lived in lovers is where I’m left,
Measured in spoons of sugar-sweet syrup.
From lazily leafing through these viscous hours
Rises wondering over days that can never be replaced.
To forget these would simply see them waste.
The fear of all outweighed by the initial,
An existence of abandoned Significants,
Self query of originality retained.
So far a life led in uncertainty appears painfully sure-
To know, however, would aid trials no more.
The human mind remains inarguably convoluted:
Arduously decoding my own is an ongoing effort,
But to determine the ardour of another is a task to
Topple it seems even the greatest of brains.
To love must be to trust, as else nought remains.
poemo 