Would you believe me,
If I told you,
That I'm in love with a ghost?
She who knocks on
pulsating, red doors,
But absent when I open them?

Yes, I'm deeply in love,
With an ethereal figure
who leaves her front door ajar,
And puts a huge "Welcome!" sign there,
But expects no guests.

Yes, she's a gentle specter,
Whose intangible fingers
****** my cheeks,
But when I reach out
to her, all my fingers grasp is thin air.
And I, left, derided with vanity.