ten years after

she tells me
and now i know:
it wasn't what i thought,
[more cliche please!]
no commitment,
all the moments i felt to be buildings
crumble to earth in a mad array of ideas once made concrete,
a future we might walk towards
on sunny cold autumn mornings,
the changing of the leaves reflecting the changing of our faces;
the years had flown by with the ease of butterfly wings
looping, then folding, eloping with the air around it
carrying matter and bodies
over lands across the sea,
then the rhyme scheme enters
speaking words called you and me,
and i hate the smooth transition.
in the this landscape of ever changing hues
have you heard the news?

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