Disbarred

Get out of my dreams you temptress,
But please linger some more,
You are my muse.

I'll never learn and I don't want to.

I could be a meteorologist, but I'm too distracted.
You are a cyclone I almost don't see coming as I walk the plank across this still marshland muck, cloaked by grey shaded skies at what appears to be dusk.
It's then dark and I feel as if I'm expected to catch a fish in the lake across the way,
But I'm compelled to seek shelter in a stilted wood-cabin-like bar while I sort my foresight sore head.

God I want you.
I wish you'd walk in, but I see that you've blocked me on social media instead.

As the sun comes up, I lean on a smooth, but splintered wooden ledge and look through the wide glass bay windows.
Below, a few small boats with sails blow by and I'm still lost.