To Richard Parish

In the darkest recesses of my mind,
It's as if he's right here,
having never left,
seeping through my pores;
I can feel his hand against my cheek,
under my chin,
through my hair;
His eyes hinting of a madness
that only seeks to draw me in,
and lock me away eternally;
His voice like honey inside my ears,
teasingly as words roll from his tongue,
ensnaring my senses,
and wrapping me in a tapestry of illusion;
His scent tugging at my feelings,
searching for, but not to be seen;
His breathing distinct,
heard even in my dreams;
Is he really there,
weaving threads of magick,
trapping me in his eternal image?

Master, please return...I'm alone.