Self-inflicted obsession

			I see her arrive
			And my heart falters in its beat -
			Her face inspires within
			A mixture of peace, joy and yearning -
			Her smiles give me glimpses 
			Of a contentment yet to be realised...
			But only days later -
			When I've not seen her
			And thought of her little:
			My heart does not falter in its stride -
			No rush of blood,
			No feelings cloud my actions -
			No thought is passed
			Except for the confused murmur:
			'Isn't she the beauteous subject 
			'Of my supposed obsession?'
			The reply from within is that of befuddlement -
			Which tends me towards wondering,
			And lays foundation again
			To feelings of yearning.