Can't Step Into the Same River Twice

It is madness to me,
to think that cellular degradation,
and regeneration,
means that in seven years my flesh will be brand new.
 
In seven years my flesh will never have known you.
 
The skin you had handled,
made ash behind me.
The mouth you'd kissed,
made dust in my wake.
The heart you'd quickened,
shed like molt.
But my soul will sing of you,
make no mistake.
 
I may shed flesh and heart,
and joy and pain,
but my love for you will remain the same.
I will persist,
in a Heraclitesian river-step.
A new vehicle every moment,
carrying the same old tired driver.
 
You were my home.
Now I am devoid of that title.
Now I am devoid of you.