His failure to see her is not for the want of looking,
His failure to hear her is not for the want of listening,
His silent ears and unlooking eyes are mere holes in his head, sensory impairing the world from him,
Yet his disease remains her absence,
What cure can unsilence his ears and unblind his eyes?
The birth of her image in a photograph?
Her appearance reborn in footage?
A played back recording of her voice?
No! All imposters.
Only she can make her presence,
Her panpipes will finally blow that wind of sound, flying the kite of fancy inside his ears, His drums dancing,
To her voice, organ-liquifying.
Her body bathes his in eroticism,
Physically casting crepuscular rays that shine his eyelight,
The solidity of her image unblinding him.
Now does the absence of his sense’s extinction exist?
Does he feel her tonight at the station?
Does he hear her cosmic words and clever explanations?
He burns from her raindrop eyes that are full of flames.
She stands right near him at this station,
She smells of warm cakes baked in a pan,
She cuts a smile, sending his wires full of connection,
He falls for her like the rush of sand.