Lest I be deranged — Mustash

In separation though
I hear thy voice
A voice with the subtleness
of the morning dew and spell-cast-
ing like the night-flute

I conjure thy image
That full of clarity of
thy seductive eyes
those sensously parted lips
that overtimely created gait
I feel thy warmth
A sensation that createth
warmth soft and softer than fur
Thy absence derangeth the sanest
killeth all appetite extinguisheth

all hopes and worst than concurrent
AIDS to bodily human physiology
Oh Laraba, when do I hold and
cuddle thee

Or how beareth I thy absence
Tell me in that subtle voice
Lest I be deranged.