Anxious Affection

Behind sight, sleepless pale,
The colour within me quickens,
and muscles contract as if spun,
the breath within me refuses to leave.
For the opium doesn’t seem to be working;
plasma dries a burnt-sienna; crumbles and shifts through,
static nerves, that intertwine and twitch,
in benevolent harmony.
So the adrenaline fog, cradles me
to a heavy insomnia, nestled,
gently, as a porcelain womb, curved,
in the palm-of-hand.
I can’t stop thinking of you.