Tower of Enchantment

in the mirror supine lacquerwares shake unwillingly

laughter and wooing, to please the emperor

music rooms secret chambers fling and fake for wedding night

he grows old, the arch bridge of his body brims

with boundless spring waters of desire

he drains himself dry, in the loin of the opulent empire

he’s anxious to take the whole world through the lattice window

yet fears that his days are numbered and the corridor too short

the beauty of butterfly flowers captivates with killing charm

the mirror spits out assassins who fill up the fields

what he fears after all is himself, in some reincarnation

neck onto a brocade band, soberly at a loss