Spector

In the darkness,
a night of a sleepy moon,
my heart tricked
by the games of the night,
skips a beat, when
upon the fireplace wall,
there dancing with the flames,
you are.

In the morning glow,
a morning of grass
kissed snow,
as the beast romps up ahead, very near
the forest's foreboding edge,
my eye in a blink,
with certainty sees,
you
ducking in and out
of of the ruffled, jagged edge,
at play.

In the evening glow,
at the shore,
I fold and sort
what is no more,
only to have my ear
register the sounds
of the coast and a voice,
the voice,
I long to hear, of
you
calling my name.

On a rainy day,
I finally say,
I must,
and without a lot of fuss,
I go to the wardrobe,
on the other side of the bed
and if I close
my eyes and
open the heavy gate,
like a soldier,
who knows this is the last
bastion of safety,
that the other side
will not surrender,
and even still
 I march on,
I will,
with closed eyes,
be certainly tricked,
by a nose,
who traitorously breathes in,
over and over,
the lingering scent of...
… of you.