Lighthouse

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Don’t leave home
Don’t leave any footprints or a trace in the space
Most traveled by her Grace
Imagine being landlocked in a landscape so grand:
I tried my hardest to get lost out there
A plague on all your houses! May they be made out of sand.
I climbed the gate to survey your Kingdom:
The richest garden was laid out for miles
With aisles of regimented, regal perfectionism
A Rorschach test of renaissance era precision
There’s chemistry in such a symmetrical schism
You found the perfect formula in horticultural heroism.
No camera can ever capture this vision,
A Polaroid never dries, the ink runs down my hand
And dyes the ever decreasing lifelines
Like an open palmed tattoo memory of you.
Take me to the ocean
I wanted to taste the salt on my lips
Where Mermaids board the boats every summer
A solstice tradition for a solar eclipse.
How can the Sirens dance without fear,
When their feet meet the decks for just one night a year?
Something on the horizon lies heavy to the eyes
On all crew members weather weary foresight.
The sailors put their raincoats on
And felt the chill set in their bones
The rocks sneer through a thin veneer
Like cruel Kings married to their thrones.
Take me to the old lighthouse
Where We can sit and watch the shipwrecks
I would guide them back to shore
But there’s nothing more that I adore
Than your illuminated, ill fated
Artificial Belle De Jour.

M.D.B

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