Love chases me through the day.
Thoughts of her that never goes away.
I try to let her go, I succeed for a bit.
But in me, she is ingrained in it.
She calls me, beckons me...
the solitude she has given me
a choir of whispers, of sirens...
leading me to meaningless hope.
fevering my contagion, my ailment:
Her love of life, my amour accident.
You touch my face, and say...
Never, ever look back.
...and one last thing too:
I, Love, You.
She runs far from me,
ever with a kind face,
Darker truth than damage done,
collateral for her preservation,
she will never give up salvation:
That perhaps she was moved by such ideas,
into the same dark corners as I,
and found our self-made universe,
to be an amicable compromise...
in our chaotic intercourse.
I touch your face, and say...