As at this desk I clack upon a key,
And curse again this bleak monotony,
(Bemoaning fate alas internally!)
My wandering thoughts return once more to thee.
When I, on phone, intone in gentle wise
That “this or that” is not to be advised,
And thusly bend, beseech, apologise,
For this poor job! which I wholly despise!
...then I see ...my darling lover’s eyes...
Widening as they dance upon my own,
With pupils dark and limbs around me thrown,
Whilst I, contorting, dissolve with gentle moan
And thence the corners of my soul are shown...
...which miss the bliss brought by thy kiss alone...
So even when, still, at my screen I sit,
Lamenting wasted days and hours unfit,
Time, by these thoughts, is rendered exquisite
Like some sweet pain to which I must submit.
Though every speck of time a hindrance be,
Each ticking clock is bringing you to me.
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