Revisit

 It used to beecstatic: a feast of fleshserved upon a plate of love. It used to besensuality’s serendipity, nor does my memoryexaggerate the way I found you beautiful. That look that lingeredon your face, the race of heartbeats,touch of skin on skin electrified my life& left my pulses whirring. But now it’s more likeshaking hands: although, still we slotcracks & crevices we forgot, fit cleverlytogether. Yes, now it’s morewhat love is not & where we’ve been,between, has left an imprintwe can’t blot, now love has run, at last the musehas left us.