Reflecting upon my reflection,
staring intently into his eyes
obscured by the lamp light's deflection
full of distortion, darkness and lies.
My whispers give off condensation
until his shape has become a ghost
in some dreamy floaty elation
pressed to the pane, powerlessly engrossed.
Night is sneakily swallowing the day;
I am watching the digestion through the glass
but still his intense shadow won't go away
and my infatuation will not pass.
And so I continue to sit and stare
And so I continue to sit and stare
at something which is not really there.
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