The envelope of fear in daily haunts--
A product of your registered contempt--
Prevents my joy with what each woman wants,
but by an order I became exempt.
To see you is to fear your withheld glance,
To risk your visage, empty of a smile.
To hear your voice demands a second chance,
While you with pleasant words, all hopes beguile.
I loathe to tread where we would meet by plan
or call or luck -- or lack of luck, months show.
To meet in violation of the ban
unspoken, painful episodes, I know.
A ghost within a life, within access;
Your lies and my compliance in excess.