I trim the wicks,
replenish fuel,
wind clockworks and brush windows
while you indulge
your bones of Machiavellian strength
against violet-tinted daydreams and merlot lit nights.
"God's surviving nymph.
The beautiful scar on a rock. A muse."
A mermaid dreaming of vineyards.
There are sailors
besotted
and this lighthouse keeper
a mythical being.
These parallel lives
have grown staircases
where your favorite
winds
fumble.
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