(Shouldn’t soulmates be as one?)

I know I know Her

Who is this woman approaching?
Soul-piercing eyes, pretty pout.
I know I know her, and her, me.
An intrigue I can do without.

Deju vu personified permeates,
paralysis returns, eyeing those hips.
Again, see my arm around her waist,
I’m intoxicated already … those lips

I smell her fragrance, even apart.
I know under those damn clothes.
She applies lipstick without looking.
I know her past pleasures and woes.

Knowing what other men don’t know,
her vices and what takes persuasion;
how she ties her hair, bites her lip,
or which earrings to a special occasion.

Who is this woman walking passed?
Not a friend only, or partner in crime.
Doubtless my wife, bearing my children,
not just acquaintance in another time.

I know I know her, and her, me.
She knows my thoughts afore I do.
Damn, shouldn’t soulmates be as one?
So, I’m pleading, can’t we start anew?

She doesn’t appear to hear, or see me.
Please, my darling, offer a clear sign.
I’m hopeful, this a silly game at most,
but, frightened it’s her reality, not mine.

How is it my life’s sojourn with her,
and memories lifelong and strong,
suddenly seem faded and one-sided,
but … not yet convinced I’m wrong.

I screamed out to my better half:
“Can’t we remain together, somehow?”
Finally, turning, she said: “We can’t.”
“I’m in someone else’s dream now.”