Lover, Uninterrupted . . .

I am a sort of prey, it seems.
she wakes me from a fitful sleep,
calls me with her strong northern
accent to the witching hours of
the night; an owl, I am not,
but she doesn’t care.

It is her way; her endless highway
of rights and wrongs and I am a
lonely traveler–this wayward
lover uninterrupted by my life.
She throws a few digital
connectors at me, begs me to
fetch them, and I click the
buttons on my phone that
allow me to see her beautiful face.

Hook. Line. Sinker . . .
treading water is my specialty,
yet her waves are often too
powerful for me to combat.
I refuse to be Blue Crushed into
an abysmal end.
Set me free, I chant.

My friend of 30 years says
to me, “She better not be playing
with your heart. She’s flirting–
you know this, right?”
And, I do, but something about
it all seems necessary–essential?
I wait for the breakdown to occur.
Surely, one is forthcoming.

The dog hears her voice and
lifts her head from dreamland
and I flit for volume control–
it really was too loud.
But her voice . . . does something
to me for which I haven’t found the word
and searching for one keeps
me busy.

I am bewitched, and no one
can reverse the spell.
Not even the one who
cast it.