Your rituals of movement-- gestures,
Humans call them--
Have me living a celestial fantasy;
Words and their cadences, lilting patterns of aural accentuation;
Meetings of ocular sphincters, irises--
A morse-code of sorts--
Place me with supreme delicacy
(Every time)
In a special space, allotted for enchantment
And obfuscation, a rebuilding of psychic memory, a blurring of otherwise-objective
Perception, an reality independent
(Non-existent).
By your'n blazing gaze, I am held:
No power, no willful movement.
My mind screams as you move into the space
I've been taught to think of as "me"
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