Musings of An Isolated Mind

She possesses this night,
though she will not tarry
as the fantasy succumbs to truth.

Is this not that of which the tragic poets
spoke when they described my love?
Is she not described in that longing?

This creature is too delicate for me,
a lily over a rose with petals of
soft optimism and gentle dedication.

A mind more capricious than fixed;
a body more oracle than muse;
the siren cry of a spirit capitulates my will.

Her name changes like shades of
sophistication as my memory follows
to the details of something new.

This is my truest folly as I follow this--
no longer do I believe in meaningful
beginnings, just visions of new endings.

So her eyes pass over like the setting sun
as I cut through her words like a bow,
her beauty kisses my face like the wind

until she is behind and I am freed again
from this dreadful chemistry
that seizes my mind in this lonely moment.