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.