Do you hear?
Arias of longing transcending.
The space apart is irrelevant.

Do you see?
A gaze beyond recognition.
Piercing. Searching. Apparent.

Do you smell?
A waft of the scent left by the fallen.
Faint yet lingering.

Do you taste?
The bitterness in my existence.
A timid heart struggling.

Do you feel?
The quiver of my loins.
The whispered begging of my soul.

I await anticipating.
The kingpin of my conundrum.
The piece that makes me whole.

Find me know. Steady my spirit.
Hold the hand that seeks your warmth.
Caress the banished romantic,
in the safety of your arms.

Sugar-coated lies of the master puppeteer,
fidgeting the strings of the humble violin
nestled in my chest.

His was trickery in the pinnacle of its form,
emblazoned across a face
devoid of his deviousness.

Falling prey to a reality existing only in my longing.
Perturbed.
Neglected.
And willingly hoodwinked.

My mortality deceiving better judgment,
I traipse a route where logic is an absentee.
I am a helpless romantic.

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In somnis veritas - Latin. In dreams, there is truth.