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I don’t trust myself to sleep.
Haunted by memories threaded in so deep.
I see a face; a face I have never know,
but one so lovely and dear, I continually yearn to own.

She is a beauty, in vice and appeal,
speaking words my dreams folly to reveal.
The attraction by which she lures, I do not understand.
Abounding wonderfulness that would stifle any man.

I may not remember her or you or this place in time.
Though the walls are familiar, as is the porch, the swing and the chime.
This block, this walk and this street, hold a vagueness of real,
One barely certain to me, held fairly by means of love congeal-ed.

My eyes are blanketed by dark’s enveloping sheet.
Rest? I am only rewarded by weaknesses engrossing heat.
Tears am I blinking, to drown the near obsession.
Fear? Un-wantingly I run, for dread of painful confession.

Mine is a torment, unknown and relentless.
As night draws near, I begin again to feel the strong presence.
The lurking, the enticing and the remorseless inviting,
To share in lovelies and memories that are but trifling.

More often than not, I fear, man as fallen under this spell.
Been drowned, not screaming; Gagged, not cheering; straight into hell.
I trust not the power of my will, nor the weakness of my mind,
Clear is this vixen; near is this whisper of love to be refined.
… Harsh is the levity found upon waking to steadier mind.