A step, a creak upon a stair
as darkness walks the halls of blue.
In want of what might be waiting there..
In want of a poetess of blue...

This Phantom treads the hallowed halls.
A shadow sleek that follows the walls.
A voice of whisper within your dreams...
A water’s fall upon crystalline streams...

Where might a dream be waiting to feel,
to grasp and hold this Phantom surreal?
Where might a sigh be waiting to escape
moist lips before those wrists he tapes...

A lighted room, might that be the place
where a phantom finds a pretty face?
A shower’s call sounding the way
where one might find such a display...

His step so sure, so long and slick
as each does fall without a click.
His eyes that peer into their own
as each does wait beside their phone...

Which room, which name, which feathered pen
shall he decide to find...to win...??
This phantom dark of these pages blue...
Might it be her....or might it be you???