Your silhouette hovers at my Darvaza gas crater,
listening intently to the deafening beat.
Why armour with such a structure, only to leave you a blinding creak.
Guarded is the soul I seek,
watchful of the words I speak,
and to my lament, I am confident
that had it been a dead bolt, barred,
free of a yellow slit, quietly seething, inviting you in.
your form would only stop to peak
upon my gate,
to another affair.