You rode the tip of my hippocampus
For over an hour before I lost you  

I almost caught you lurking
In the shrubbery of my synapses  

Someone said they saw you
Hiding out in the cerebellum
Yoga studio posing as a guru  

Reports have you overindulging
In the olfactory bulb garden
Getting high on the lilt of lilac  

I even thought I heard you
Drumming to the heart
Of my medulla oblongata  

Now the trail is cold
Send in Holmes to deduce
Poirot to search the little grey cells  

It’s become annoying  

You’re the crank call in the middle of the night
The bad kitten who will scratch an extended hand
A wordle missing three letters
A Brinks truck arriving empty  

Please come back
Step into the light of my occipital lobe  

I’ll throw you a party
Bake a cake
Hold a parade  

Just sign on the dotted line
You beautiful wayward thought
I could make you a star