A Motif of Thoughts

Your presence hangs over my writing

Like an incessant London fog,

Just as every other love before you.

 

But I have discarded those pages long ago,

When my interests shifted,

And I found a new obsession.

 

Am I wasting my time writing about you?

Are you another personal fad?

Or will you accompany me for a while?

 

Are my pieces of you a work of art?

Or another half-hearted tribute

To the current sculpture my mind is shaped as.

 

Your fate will be determined as time progresses,

Whether you are fleeting or everlasting,

And if everything of mine with your presence will be saved.