Numb As a Wound

I am sitting in my Dorchester lair, Behind the door I feel your mien, When my poetic muse is in the air, You look real as life, amore mia. When I am surfing on the internet, You are there in my click I envisage, When I initiate to scribe a sonnet, I see you embossed on the page. Sighing, wry face, lips as a dry leaf, Your green deep eyes upraised fully, Neither death kills me, nor does life, Your silence eats my soul and body. Numb as a disease, I die of a thought, Don’t you sense the same as I ought?. =========================