As It Seems: A Poem

Why am I such a miserable fool? The mutterings echo off the toilet bowl-stained limestone. I dream of freshly laundered linens and rose hip-oiled loins, the ones found in decadent masquerade parties where bowls of keys promise the mysterious. Take my hand, and we’ll run with our dresses flowing like scarves. How naive we’ll be swimming in forever’s romance, standing at the precipice of now and always. I promise to stare down the shadows and bend them to my will, if you do. Even if nothing is at it seems.

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