A precise art?
That place we were.
How right it seemed then.
The look, the feel of each other.
A precise art?
Flawed by time.
So now sadly out of
Rhyme and communication.
Memories captured
Somewhere in time.
A hidden pain, an unrecognised crime
Of betrayal.
Who's to blame?
This precise art of lovin'
Is never known.
Two minds in synchronicity,
Or in different worlds of relativity?
The ongoing reality of life.
What was that?
Oh just a scientist's thesis on relationships.
A precise art or another fools'
Falling love dart.
poem by Peter Vealey
Added by Poetry Lover
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