You tease me with your simplicity,
have yet to astound me with more complexity than I am worthy of knowing.

My eyes deceive the
perception to which yours are so accustomed, for nothing is concrete but the structure,
mirth given sans judgement;

there is yet much life in lonesome memory

But nothing quite like the cool hush of an oscillating fan during the muggy eves of May,
all of which successfully relay
that summer is on its way.

Is it sinful to want you in my journey? You, with the freckled face
and dark hair bound in lace,
braided knots which spiral down your casual posture like stairs down a beloved monument.

The one with the crease amid her eyebrows and the worried, wan line of a mouth
concealing a serpent tongue
assaults me in my dreams and haunts me through uncertain memory; she
assuages the frayed seams of thoughts coiled and violent, bursting, escaping their prison cells
by the sinuous shade of night.

I pray thee

I prey; she

brings me such delight