Frequencies

Entombed in Bean Juice, piles of books, and food,

I chase the dreams of yesteryear I placed

In cosmic methodologies; I brood,

For I will never breach the path I traced

Until the world is burned into a crisp.

I wait, just marking time with fettered beats

That wane in winter, turning to a wisp.

I'll ne'er achieve the conquest of my feats,

-

But, as I look across the room, my mind

Is thus relieved of all my wanton cares.

I catch her eyes, with halos 'round the rind.

As we each ponder this, she thusly dares.

The woman chases me, and I chase her.

A love enshrined in eyes, my heart doth stir.