that peripheral melody
flitting into view
then gone again
taunts me
haunts me
a whiff of fresh-baked cookies
detected from fragranceless banishment.
rumors of perfect passion hide
behind my ears.
whispers fog my vision;
my blood tastes bourbon

and my erratically throbbing heart is dizzy and drunk
melancholy sweet is addicting because
safe self-pity tastes so good.
because those out of sight not out of mind
invisible tangerine kisses
make my mouth pucker with want.
tantalizing fantasy tortures;
I spend my nights wishing satin dreams were true,
my days searching masks without eyeholes
and frozen-fire music still eludes.