117300
1
Lost in a labyrinth
of cases of shelves
that form corridors
where intimate thoughts dwell,
she meanders
in relative ease as if home
in these halls of gray matter
encased in my dome.
Attempts to evict her
are met with defeat.
Distractions I seek
are just out of my reach.
There is no cessation.
This preoccupation
endures – reinforced
by optic stimulation.
I take in her beauty
like life giving breaths.
What her presence does to me
is hard to express
without poetry.
She is my verse
in the flesh.
Memorized like
I rehearsed it to death.
When I lay down to rest
her presence is there.
When my eyes become heavy
with sleep she appears.
Her voice rings in my ears
and I listen with dread
'cause I can’t
get her out
of my head.
-HymnAgen
