Evolution

You lived in the house of Robert Fitzroy,
captain of HMS Beagle.
We journeyed to our Galapagos and back -
I lost my faith in love.

In the aeons since you,
I have theorised over time;
my memory is naturally selective:
our vivid episodes prevail.

Had we been less mythical,
burning like a match
rather than a raging pyre,
you might have stayed in Fitzroy's house;

and I might have chained
our connection to ancient rock;
but your shifting paradigm struck
the childish chains which broke.

I've been free to learn reality
but all I do is pine for myths:
your unreal Edenic beauty;
the apple that you gave to me.