Sense Memories of the Sixth Kind

Four o'clock in the morning again,
my subconscious alarm.
Possessed by her,
I watched midnight pass,
as I do.
One week, two?

Awakened to sense memories,
of the Sixth kind.
I must have dreamt her,
but dreams flee,
as always they do,
pitying me too.

Full of love and sorrow,
sustenance forgotten.
Exhaustion, my friend,
your cruel plan,
to deny me.
Ensure that I am empty.

Shall I put to the test,
that she is oxygen?
Food and drink and slumber,
all other preoccupation,
removed from me,
so body can see,
feel in whole,
my ravenous soul.