Within the soft mirror
in my riverside room
a castle rises, gorgeous lives
beheld in reflection
Covet

I covet the riverside more than the castle
I do not want man's wife more than mistress
Do not covet the wife, the life or the night
Covet the whore

Mirrors are the most covetous of forms
craving reflection, to the image of life
Grasping with the tendrils of light which
refract the divisions of sound and sight

I

Beautiful as I am, my golden hair tones above
the parapets which stand outside
the vibrancy hums in the ears
of those who behold the shimmer
This is the flesh,
the bone extended beyond my breast
with it's caged beating a silent tribute to enslavement

Wrapped in the coil, the philosopher's stone
can only grant immortality
by turning lead words to gold
How do we now make diamonds from the flesh
and gold from the dust of iron filings
ground down seeking to escape our ivory prison