So many people have come and gone . . .
their faces fade as the years go by
Yet I still recall as I wander on—
as clear as the sun in the summer sky
                                                     BOSTON
                                                          ­                                                                 ­ 

Your name remains: a magic word
to conjure nights of springs long-gone.
I muse upon your face, alone
and find my heaven's hope deferred.
Since unpoetic life occurred,
Romance has gilded scenes long dead.
Nostalgic memory has fed
the embers of a fire you stirred.
You turned and walked out of my days.
I never heard your voice again.
Yet memories of you amaze
Engraved in my adoring brain.
In labyrinths we wonder free
to meet again eventually.

(Is this poem better in decasyllables . . .  ?
I need some feedback.)

                 Name of a City

Your name remains with me. A magic word
To conjure nights and scents of springs long-gone.
I muse upon your tawny face, alone
And find my heaven's hope now long–deferred.
Since unpoetic life and age occurred,
Romance has gilded scenes that lie long dead.
Nostalgic memory of you has fed
The smoldering embers of a fire you stirred.
One spring, you turned and walked out of my days.
I never heard your feline voice again.
Yet memories of you, intense, amaze
Engraved for good in my adoring brain...
On, through the labyrinths, we wander free
To meet in time again, celestially.