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.
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