she has remained hidden for the entirety of the time i've spent basking under her gaze. she views me against faint periwinkle skies, but i do not. i feel as exposed as an unsheathed prey, encircled by gloomy willows that reek of doom. she remains tucked away under the clouds. my mind is bumbling up phrases, slurred; thoughts, clouded. her gaze is so potent that it bores a cavity through my flesh when i, a craftsman, sit down to carve wood with my bare hands and my bare hands alone. the crimson on my craft is not a shade that the cosmos adorn. it bleeds out of my hands, and my hands alone. i've walked through forests trying to figure out your disposition, but here you are. peering through my window, sitting— ever so graciously— and anticipating me. me, your skilful craftsman. You, my seraphic enchantress.