Disillusioned

Take another stride,

trailing silk upon the palace tiles

and reaching for the strand

on your neck,

loosening pearls from their captivity

to pool on the floor

and in the mouths of those who hound you

as I once did

 

Serenade me with the visage

of which I have become so accustomed

as to fall ill in its absence,

yearning for the idealized notion

that only in my reveries do I entertain dearly, but

catching only an evanescent glimmer

of it when I do see you,

only to find that I have mistook it for

something else

 

Alas, you are not

the royalty that my preoccupations

have led me to believe;

a fault of mine entirely. But I

did not deceive myself,

the self deceived me,

painting coronets where

there was only canvas.

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