I am intoxicated
with the saccharine mystery
in your warm gaze,
your sylph-like appearance-
a misty dream haunting
idyllic paths
inexorably, I find myself
in the same spot
under the tree archway
as much as I try to escape
how sweet-
sickeningly sweet-
my suffering,
the uncanny feeling of being
hypnotised to return,
to haunt and be haunted
I feel masochistic urges
to re-enact scenes of
long-lost delights
of the senses
delicately,
then vigorously
wistfully all along
You never wither,
I decay in the scent
of nostalgia.