She peeks through the crimson of my lonely thoughts, with mischief yet shy,
Like a diffident bride holding on with bloodless knuckles to peeling garments on wedding night.
I wonder at her wavering emotions, at times a foaming sea, at times a passive bay.
And if I held her fire in an embrace, she’d likely turn me to ashes,
Though winning her, is all I wished, I’d gladly die without a fight.