A Wigwam for a Goose's Bridle

I.
Your look, piercingly soft
in its gentle intensity,
burning the invisible scars
you left behind that day
we breathed each other in,
dissolves weak resolve.
With reiteration of vague precepts
to which I once subscribed,
unsuspecting Reason drowns
amid the clamouring
of inadequately suppressed Love.
I will vouch for the veracity
of this unwavering sentiment,
this incessant, blunt aching
I only now dare to label.
Silently, I concede defeat to your look.
I admit the desire to be lost within it.
Such desire is rejected,
along with the weakness of the moment.
Memory of your touch, that look,
tattooed into my skin,
stenciled onto my heart,
though indelible, remains veiled
behind pretense of invulnerability.

II.
Your memory, bittersweet,
is etched onto the glass walls
of my heart as though by diamond.
That false, fleeting claim of Love
now proclaims the shameful ignorance
through which Reason fell.
That memory resonates
in its painful reminder of unnecessary mistakes
I vow never to repeat.
You will never know
how I think of you
as I wish to lose myself
within his eyes,
how I regret you
as I close my eyes
for fear of betraying such a wish,
for fear of betraying myself
by allowing its fulfillment.
You will never know
that I cry as I angrily blame first you,
then the situation,
then myself.

III.
Your voice, reverberating through my mind,
retains its power still.
Time has not lessened your hold.
Reason is distracted,
while Love, again, interjects.
I thought she had been banished.
I remember authorising
the paperwork for her exile.
Yet here she is,
an unexpected machine-gunner
on the left flank.
A small army of defensive words
and circular logic
moves in to retaliate,
to move the wounded,
to repair the damaged fort.
She retreats but is still undead,
accepts defeat in this battle,
but will not yet concede the war.

IV.
His look, tender and loving,
takes me in without warning.
I catch my breath, and lose
the power of speech. His voice
is musical and his words lyrical,
caressing my senses. Love
raises her head once more,
and this time, she fights
on my side. As my skin pulses
beneath his touch, my heart
floods with new memories,
and new definitions
of emotions I always thought
I understood. The reflection of
your look fades, and is lost
in ripples as he artfully skims pebbles
across my subconscious.  The regret
of past mistakes is sweetened
by knowledge of the contrast
they bring to this experience,
heightening my awareness
of exhilarating truth, when
his look permeates my dreams.