Fish to a gull
My every plan she is the result
She engulfs me
Only her love can free me
Thoughts of her like an orchestral theme follow me
Even in dreams she is queen thereof.
An insult to call Iseult Isolde
Mark knows of her affairs but will not dissolve the marriage
Nor absolve himself of the title cuckold
Tristan strolls thrice at pace around the space of Iseult’s tower’s base
Climbs it like an elite assault force, brick tight to face
Princely stains, the prince’s handprints stain the brickwork.
Lacing poulaine tendril and silked fingertips into the jutting stayers, a natural stairs
Climbs until heat from her brazier lessens the breeze, the uncaring alwaysstaring stars
Teasing scents sense pleasing rise like acolytes through degrees into the night
Heat of his nature, longing to please himself on Cornwall’s wife
At windowlip near towertip he throws one leg and lifts, taking care not to trip
Wind whips at a new rip in his livery
At liberty too often, the Libertine makes his fated, fatal delivery.
Alchemisland 
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