M'oeillade

I see him in her. Every utterance, every gesture, every breath of hers reminds me of him. He was powerful with his words and influences;  he manipulated those around him with ease like marionettes in a honeyed spectacle, myself included. I find myself acting like him, subconsciously finding my way back into his slender grasp by becoming him himself.

 He haunts me. His presence still lingers here. I'm uncertain as to how long this arid drought of intolerable silence shall be sustained but I am dying. I am dying of thirst. I am a lover of water and he is the rain. His love courses through my body like the blood in my veins. But my pertinacity delays my action; Oh Hamlet how your inaction afflicts me. Never another amorous glance shall I catch, my short-lived oeillade has begun to decay.