My mind longs for rest a lingering thought a mosquito's lustful kiss upon the scalp permeating
It remains to me an eternal enigma--- where does one dwell at the open of the close?
In the final Harry Potter book, "I open at the close" is etched into Harry's old golden snitch (it's quite a long story if you don't know the series). It stuck from the moment I read it, and so I incorporated it into this poem.