Her words like silk,
Her kindness a balm to my soul;
Lost in her embrace,
On forgotten streets we stroll.

A spell she weaves,
A peaceful enchantment of grace;
Her eyes, a loyal guide,
In this soundless, tranquil place.

Her tears fall like rain,
A butterfly's desperate cry;
I stumble for an answer,
Unsure if this is truth or lie.

If this is real,
Or a figment of my mind's creation;
Let me slumber on,
In this dream-like sensation.

Don't wake me yet,
Let me drift in this blissful state;
Fiction or reality,
I don't want to contemplate.

For it is infatuation,
A spell that's taken hold;
Let me linger here awhile,
Before the truth is told.