What would I do without my fondest delirium?
he stalks my outside musings
he surprises my sharpest joy within
the dullest treading tumult.

I love the embrace of his watchful eye
he peruses my dreams,
a chef sampling caviar laced Hors d'oeuvres.

I speak to him through every reflection
the blank stare of vending machine glass,
the audacity of bathroom mirrored lashes,
the subtle wink of windows, skylights, vistas
every portal into another expanse
blasts me into the remainder of his silhouette.

What would I do without my fondest delirium?
he is the simplest clarity upon my devoted retinas