All that I have are glimpses.

Ghostly shivers,

poison as I pass by her Door.

Nevermore.

The sky is silent,

watching me pace and pay attention to each ember of the fire that threatens to burst free,

tingling at the fingertips that breathe only for her,

twitching,

yearning,

screaming,

burning,

drumming on the door that never opens.

Her door,

so familiar,

so far past humouring me,

frowning as I display my desire before her.

All of my letters,

broken free of my busy, burning brain,

handwriting, hurrying from neat to nervous,

lipstick, sealing wishes inside white envelopes.

All for her.

She, still beloved,

still behind her shield,

eyes closed to my letters,

to my flowers,

to my tears,

throwing tantrums in the curb side gutter as the sun averts her eyes.

Her eyes,

the centre of the Earth,

the finest dish,

the fiercest fire,

dark and daring,

nevermore my escape,

forevermore a bittersweet craving.