How life can change,
from one day to the next,
each breathes different than the last.

A surprise, you might be my kind.
Reading a fresh expression in your eye,
is it the light of the ethereal moon?

The feeling fades,
as ephemeral as it dithered,
you are looking less refined,
still pleased to see me.

The tone dies transitory.
I forget to watch for your ocular exposé,
exerting an efflux of futile dialogue.
You allow the wind to carry it away,
rousing a rout.

What is the depth of the connection?
I wish I could sense it,
without gaiting back bemused.