A/N: Yes, the form is as if it were a sonnet but I assure that I did not bother with iambic pentameter. Deal with it.

I wish I could wake against your mind’s door

And start knocking as if my weak hands could prevail.

The burgundy rooms that so tempt me and more,

They call from your eye-windows boarded and nailed.

To trespass, steal trinkets for a keepsake-

The stigma attracts me as well as your wit.

The eccentrics you harbour so close I will take,

To be your sole burglar, yes that is my wish.

Oh, to see if your decor were that claret-pure

As the pictures I paint in rose-tempera tones.

The port that is you must be my sweet cure

 For kleptomania for the ruby you’ve shown.

How I ache with the feeling of not knowing who

Resides in that house built just for two.