In the tower,
I watch you healing;
it’s a self-served
march to freedom.
Memories, they float
like chocolate,
taste me sweet
inside the mirror.
And I radiate
with power
to the unposed
questions answered,
as the master
turns a cartwheel
to become
the great pretender.
Still the children
won’t forgive me
if you sleep
without your nighty.
Breathing in
the tortured cadence
and I want to take
you with me,
but I’ll stay.