When naught remains,
Save the hollow ring of empty promises;
When pretense is no more,
What then this fragile innocence?
When lofty reverie
Gives way to earthly platitude
Shall we cherish less this new found love;
This breathtaking communion of souls?
(for it is that, be it fleeting or everlasting)
Or rather, shall our hearts, by Terpsichore's grace,
Dance on in quiet syncopation -
What having begun as mad infatuation,
Now nurtured and matured
Into unaffected adoration?
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