My Napoleon

This hanging light is bright

and reflected in a window, shines,

to make an electric moon.

I am reminded of you, 

my own false lunar lover,

and think that perhaps you live in exile now

and have only the petrels and the sky to bully.

You are somewhere and I wonder

if at this moment you sit upon a throne

or march or sleep 

as you live out an existence

which no longer overlaps with mine.

Do you contemplate me where you are

or am I just rinsed out in wash of your dreams?

You were my cod king,

it took so little time for your ambition

to acquire an emperor's crown 

for me to polish.

And these thoughts trick the senses

as if we are still connected

when I know that you are lost and far away.

My fool's gold, you must pace those black beaches

in rumination of the rises and falls of empires.

You must curse the stars and gnaw the bone of it

to find the marrow of your frustration.

We share these memories and

despite their disparities,

they let us believe they form a thread.

Yet I am a spider

who has learnt the tunes of flies

and to draw you nearer,

I will tap them out upon your web.

My Napoleon, even though revenge

may well be deadly, come to me,

let's discover which of us, this time,

will take the turn of the devourer.

Image from pixabay