We wander through the streets so old,
Clandestine in our cascade.
It starts to rain as the thunder
Roars its disproval of this charade.
But rather than douse your flames
The water stokes your burning fire,
And as the clouds continue bunching
Together the flames lick ever higher.
Oblivion grows as the abuse increases,
It becomes torrential and ill-thought out,
And a sly remark with raised eyebrows
Was enough to sow the seed of doubt.
Our walk ceases outside an old haunt,
And your eyes bore through mine,
My grip on your hand surprisingly
Slackens as I say “We had our time.”
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