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I'm back again and writing between the lines. Intoxicating like wine, I'm a prophet ahead of the times. Refining this vision of mine into pure essence. In rhyme I define the design of the divine sentence. While interpreting the signs of celestial intervention. Released from the link to all lower things, I ready this mortal ascension. So purified, I must abide to change direction, my first approach requires correction. My past attempts made no connection, beyond reproach and intersection. With this new inflection, sans-dejection, I'll enter her perception.

Now I'm searching for truth beyond all common measure. I'll climb high and low, to the skies and far bellow for this treasure. Without pleasure or rest, blessed or divest, empty-handed I'm left with more and no less. For years, time worked her best, through the sting of her jest, never bested I've held true to the test. Outlasting her sting, the last thing that I've seen, fast fleeting the gleam of the past. Not meaning a thing, out-cast and reeling, it would seem that I've stood to the last.

You guessed it,

This woman of my dreams is more than she seems, cryptic, mysterious and temperamental. On the surface she's serious, inside she burns furious, imbued with a fire, elemental. I wake up each night with the sweet-sweat of delight, her brand burned in my sight and sensation. Perceived in this light and infused with insight, her flame is my muse and bright inspiration.

You know that I'll use any manner I choose, invitation or ruse that's short of abuse, to pin-point her nearest location. Without limitation, I'll scour the nation, resort to insidious schemes of ingenious means, to track her GPS triangulation. And so this goes, over the wire flows, knows no bounds or static distortion. Surrounds and drowns-out, the sounds and put-downs, a message of massive proportion.