A dual renaissance is recommended:
rebirth before our ignorance gets worse.
Though we met months ago, if we pretended
it happened yesterday, could we immerse
our battered egos into pots of hot
reception? Saturate our hearts without
a sear? Allow the parabolic shot
from Cupid’s bow to show what we’re about?

For we exchanged these fractions of our hearts
and then neglected them, which makes us stall
as if we’d ventured nothing. Fear imparts
a haltingness, a bitterness, a pall
that shrouds and spoils us for any bliss
we’d ever have. We waste our worthiness.