Dusty Poetry #64

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Becoming Strangers

The first thing he lost was her presence
Though that much was determined by choice
Then over time it was her essence –
He forgot her scent, her poise, her voice

Burned into his memory though is the image
Of dark hair fondly framing her face
But he only remembers a visage
That time, choices, and wrinkles replace

One day the two passed by the same booth
They crossed paths with nary a glance
Estranged lovers are now strangers in truth
With a now long forgotten romance

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