Through a glass darkly

His face lurks behind your window
staring into your living room
He is still and he is quiet
carefully planning out your doom

He knows what time you go to work
and at your every move he peeps
He knows where you hide your spare keys
He watches as your body sleeps

Lost items in your house are his
He takes an unwashed sock sometimes
He hides your things around the house
but these are just his foreplay crimes

He stares through your kitchen curtains
licks his lips when you wash dishes
He stands there in the garden bed
calculating his planned wishes

His power is in his patience
and he has done this times before
waiting for the perfect moment
to bury you under his floor

copyrite - Peter Bainbridge 2007

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