Glasshouse

Round the glasshouse I chase a silhouette of you.  

A mere concept of genuine longing and charm 

that beguiles and belittles the senses off me,  

while a sun gleams over my sapphire-studded eyes  

as I lay them across a pool of ecstatic misfortune  

drowning me in your aura of pleasure-ridden sea. 

You bind me into a circle of shapeless existence 

where my imagination melts down to greet me 

into broken pieces of kaleidoscopic hues, 

tangled every word I speak to you remain 

so tethered to my labored smile that greets 

your passing glace before a tapestry of clues. 

Daydream of a dissonant dreamer dances 

carefree and lost to a timeless grace 

pouring in and out of your stealing gaze, 

it reaches out without any consideration 

enticing me to bury my irrational ruminations 

without any obligation to my weary ways. 

I could have let this moment slip away 

before the reticence of yesteryears 

became the reflection of my undoing, 

but what lies beyond this glasshouse  

is just an imperfect reflection of a possibility 

so keen on leading me to my ruin.