Ben Baba Babs

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Sonnet 037 - Infatuation

Where hast thou been, O object of ma fascination,
My heart strings twist at the sound of your voice,
Desires Welled up, nerves twitching,
Look at those eyes, i'm lost in them,
With an unusual feeling of content, even in my loss,
And of course, that goading thought, 'is it love? '
Love for which the topless towers of Illium were burnt,
Just for Hellen's sake?
The same one for which Allen Poe penned down Sweet Annabelle Lee?
Obstinately affirmative, my mind in a futile attempt to convince me,
Prays the stars of the constellations to plague me with it,
But my better judgement quickly discerning it isn't,
Would then hope cupid on his next shooting spree,
Doth perforate me with his rather affectionate arrows.

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