Limerence


Woman-with-rose

I’m uncertain why I enjoy being obsessive over you?
The lingo of the mind, both voluntary and involuntary
The play room of the bloom. I’m heartless obsessing over you.
You give me a wink and my heart fetches for invisible adoration.
It’s easy to be consumed by this dopamine. These chemical reactions.
The biology in me conducting your science, your returning interactions.

You make me angry by saying you’re a different guy.
All I gather is hot and cold, hot and mischievously cold.
Your presence lights up the sky with pots of gold, uncontrolled.
I’m aware we’re aiming in the direction of part-time,

But to no avail and what is amiss? I’m not completely sold.
I know I’m afraid to ruin the image of you in my head.
To think that you’ll turn out to be a regular guy,
Full arrays of dreadful imaginations similar to Drop Dead Fred.

You make me angry by not giving me what I want:
A photo, the opposite of obscurity, a penny for your thoughts sir.
This passion has bled brick red with familiar haunts
Of subtle bouts of nonchalant and errs.

-Pennington_Hall©

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