Writhing in agony, calling the name of yours,
As it's to save me or maybe, of some importance,
I am to remember the day when my oak door,
Opened by you as a part of an art performance,

Made the sound of joy (so I thought, when I saw you first,
Laughing, choking and literally, aware
Of me being zealous and feeling this very thirst)
Your curse never fled in the end of a love affair.

Now, I'm writing poems, and every day,
Like a mirror, my memory replicates you.
Coming closer and teasing, you never walk away,
As if you are the only truth and the only safety.