Poetic tricks

Your note had slammed so hard the door  
On dreamt of drowsy days, delicious nights  
When two great crested grebes rise and twist as one.  
Despair. Your memory confined. I thought  
No more of you. Yet when, by chance, we met  
Outside the club of our first tryst, I let  
You take me home - a drive contrived, I prayed  
To recapture the misty past I craved.  
But not a word you spoke- bar yes or no  
In answer to conversational probes.  
Presaged it a new dawn or just a sign  
Of a new role to which I must resign?  
A broken token of our compact past  
A past when no compact could be broken?  
   
(though based on something from early  
youth, it is meant as a joke against poetic forms and conventions)