The placard above your door states it clearly:
you don't want any visitors.
nil dissolvit ut glacium, eh?

Iocundis imperate dues puerilis--
What then? Will you cry "rape!"
to the envisioned scrupulous suitors?
Cogitatione, verbo et opere--
and you are the one at fault
you are the apostate here. the glacial frames
hardly exist past the wide windows
that spill in a frothy white incandescence
the powdered-sugar dreams and disturbed milk
you never tasted.

Can you
castigate the stasis?

Can you
fly over the
cuckoo's nest?

(You are a frightened and forewarned
aficionado of fog.)

nil dissolvit ut glacium-- Roughly translated as "nothing breaks the ice"

Iocundis imperate dues puerilis-- From Carl Orff's Carmina Burana, Omnia Sol Temperat. "the joys are governed by the boy-god"