Thoughts; they can be jumbled, muddled
Or perhaps forgotten past the obstacles of time
They strike instantly or form slowly a jigsaw puzzle
Sometimes never coming, sometimes flowing as a nursery rhyme

Whatever it may seem, mine don’t resemble a blank line
Such as the heart beat of the dead
Rather a loop where every new thought
Leads and ends only to you in my head

You, who forms endless red lights in my train of thought,
You, who causes high pitches in the beat of my heart
You, who results a flood in my flow of blood
You, who creates a twitch in every part

The picture of your milky face
That somehow always my mind has sought
Disappears every fresh, new one with your
Ever-refreshing, ever-tingling, ever-pleasing thought