Under waning gold moonlight, she waits.  Bed
linens are strewn carelessly around her since nothing
can warm the detached chill of a lonely bed.  There is
no easy weight at the hollow of her neck when she reaches
for her holy talisman.  Her agile fingers run over and over the
concave of bone and skin, and she waits.  She waits for the
day when she can once again press a finger upon the charm
with such pressure, that an small imprint of a cruciform is
tattooed on her skin.  Like she did when she was apathetic
and young.

The wear of hunting and longing pulls heavy at the flesh
of her eyelids, but she fights every urge to succumb.  At the
onset of the quest, she gladly welcomed every hour and minute
that she could squeeze out of her investigating mind.  Rationalism,
condition and force by outside parties required the repose.

With the sleep, came the memories of days past and desires
of the future.  So captivating, so elating and so indulgent, these
pictures and dreams inflamed the molten core of her being.  The
visual taunts lured her to the very heights of ecstasy and
impelled her to the depths of despair when she woke
alone the next morning.  She refused to let any
memory of him come in the form of taunt,
waving "perfect happiness" in front of her,
then snapping it away when
she grasped at it.

It was months ago that his scent wore out of the Oxford
shirt she wears now.  Months since boxes of his belongings
were toted out of his home.  They sit now in either her apartment
or the lair of the Gunmen.  It had only been weeks since the
basement office had been locked and abandoned for a period
of time.  The Poster now hangs on the wall adjacent to
her bed, beside the window she now looks out of, and waits.

She waits for the day when she can feel his arms engulfing
her, instead of the soften material of a worn-down shirt.  When
she can kiss him, and ask for his forgiveness
for not going with him.  When she can tell
him of the memories and desires poking at her psyche,
restless and jeering like a child.  She waits for
the day when he can pull her to the heights of ecstasy and
push his power beyond all limits to protect her from the
contrasting despair.

She molds a hand to her rounded belly,
feeling for a kick or a heartbeat, a reassurance
of what she can't believe.  Under the waning gold moonlight,
she waits, burning on the inside.