in my future down a hidden hallway you sit. i don't know that face yet as i will know it then. then every curve and crease will be as known to me as my own hands. the details of your being etched forever on my mind and heart. today there are layers of others recent and past being packed away to make room. while i am the bearer of their tattooed impressions yours my dear will be the lasting one, the final cover for that glorious piece of art called love. your specter haunts and flows like mercury in the hand, moving away and coming back again. never quite visible, just sitting on the edge of my eye line. there are days when i do not believe i will ever open the door behind which you are hid, rather i will be left to the maybes and the heartbreaks and the compromising situations that never are right. so i ask for sleeping visions and bulwarks to hold and fortify my waiting. bring a glimpse of seer's insight in my unconscious seeing.