Thursday, August 16, 2012

cradled in the soft
contour of our hearts,
filtered through a
system of logical
irregularities, flows a
displaced passion, an
irrational possession
superimposed upon our lives

like a musical minuet
holds forever the libretto
of our past as if our
secret must remain;
must be ever-present,
an illusive fantasy that
shares today and tomorrow,
and all tomorrows that
faintly remind us of
our musical connection.

June 13, 1985



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