“I’m half sick of shadows,” she said. (Arthurian legend so lush)
Cloaked in desire
atop a tower of stone
she wants what
she cannot know
Invisible carriage attends
her fate as droplets of golden
tears flow
Longing the one who does
not exist
exquisite pain shall prevail
hiding her grief beneath
Lancelot’s cape
breath sighs into mist
as she sails
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