No One To Cool My Feverish Brow (Revised) Poem by William Jackson

What is it about you,
explosions in my head,
a fever I can never shake?

The sun rises beneath psychedelic rainbows
whenever you're around, and my blood
begins to slowly boil, overheating my brain
and cooking me from the inside out.

Then at times reality sets in; cold logic rules supreme,
and I know without a doubt that I’m going to be fine.
In fact, you have no more influence over me
than that of any other mortal.

And just when I'm feeling
comfortably numb and realize
in my heart of hearts
that I'm free of you at last,
my temperature spikes,
(at the mere thought of you) ,
and there is no one
to cool my feverish brow.