I've been afflicted with this you-centric pareidolia.
To be convicted of drawing your face
on every passing passerby
implies the weight of a final farewell coda
goes beyond the gloom hovering over a looming goodbye.

And it's an ill that goes beyond daytime hallucinations...
Every time I read a book I wonder
whether the same ideas from the words down and up under
have had their ships drop hook on the shores of your imagination.

While my mind succumbs itself to your endless regime
I implore you to tarry aboard my train of thought:
depart not soon—heck, pester me amidst daydream
even though I know a waking man ought
not spoil himself that way.