The keys to my castle are yours

if you would have them.

When you walk its spider webbed halls, I ask

You forgive my predilections.

I have always loved locked doors.

But of a hundred keys, I give you ninety-nine

And crave your indulgence for one.

There should always be secrets in a marriage

And love is just a witch's spell, too easily broken.

I have learned this lesson now three times.

You may hear cries in the night,

And turn to me, all dark, frightened eyes,

your rose red heart thudding fast under paper-thin skin.

You are safe, but do not wander the halls alone:

I can attest, some of the shadows bite.

Instead, lie beside me in this sepulchral bed,

The candlelight stroking your face

And let my fingers trace the rhythm of your beating heart.

Do not fear me: I see the innocence in your eyes,

And know you will be nothing like the others I have wed.


A/N: I think I write poetry whenever I'm procrastinating on my chaptered stories. Somehow, it doesn't feel like real work. I found the first couple of lines of this in one of my university notebooks, mixed in among lecture notes and thought I'd finish it off. Hopefully someone will like it.