My dear your temperament is addictive and anthemic.
Outside your door the color of days illuminate my longing;
I took a swig of your beautiful soul and now I want more.
To dwell in your immortal authenticity and tend your ever blooming flowers,
It seems eternity and floods might carry me to an abyss,
But how lovely is your door.
I have knocked on it over and over and the answer is always the same: silence.
Saved me some hope but my dear the waiting is bizarre .
I shall forsake my grovelling, and open up truly.
My alley is forlorn, littered with vanquished hopes;
But you bestir some new, for your beautiful door and golden knob I envision.
I have a feeling of compunation for my soul has seen bruises.
So take me up the crag and let me take root beside you,
Past your door and for infinite days more.