The Half Open Door by Tara Staunton

laura_palmer

Is that you, my fair love,

Who steadily breathes,

Is it you sweet bodies warmth,

I sense in the dark,

Are those your white fingers,

That caress the doors edge.

I call to you,

But silent you remain.

Why my dear love,

Do you linger so still,

Does the cold rush of the night not,

Blush your skin blue.

Come my love, through the half open door.

Come sweet apparition, and be cold no more.

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