What became of the dear
strands of hair pressed
against the perspiration
of your lover's brow
after lovemaking as you gazed
into the world of those eyes,
now only yours?
What became of any afternoon
that was so vivid you forgot
the present was up to its old
trick of pretending
it would be there
always?
What became of the one
who believed so deeply
in this moment he memorized
everything in it and left
it for you?
