I can’t see you, my love

I can’t see you, my love. I’m filled with fragmented images.
Such that the soul is wedded to fiction. But love, a vision in
The breeze; and stippled upon spirit, the face of dreams.
You’ve captured essence, my bleeding wound. I feel you, and
Fear seizes the heart. I touch you, and awake in screams.
Thus the pulse is mystic, my aching scar. Hence the soul,
Aflame with angst. And thrust into the future such dreams.
Whereby I panic upon a lovelock, fraught with illusion.

I can’t see you, my love. I’m haunted by impressions. Thus
The soul, a bundle of prayers. And anguish, our common
Thread. Wherefore tension, a sacred link. But fate, a sphinxly
Beast. Thus a touch of darkness whelms the soul. Hence
Forbidden, this brilliant dream. But visions flood the soul.
And the heart, sorely deluded, for love a mystic storm.