So this too
Has passed
Moments
Those chit notes torn out of
The pages
Of
Reality
Billet douxes
That fluttered
Curled about their edges
And tapered
Into mere fibers
Forbidden
Therefore enticing
All the more alluring
Maybe dull and lifeless
Lost charm
If they were allowed
Just scraps
Not worth the paper
They were written on.

My fantasy
My dream
My reality
For you: maybe not even worth the thinking
So no wasted thought
Nor effort at remembrance
Once gone, spent forever

But for me
Yet another affair of the heart
That leads to good poetry
When will my literature
Take a backseat to reality.