unlike the Cinderellas and princes-in-shining-armor of my childhood,
a sort of love has found me in a wayward tower,
in no distress -- doing just dandily, thank you --
atop a foundation perhaps too firm, too barricaded, too secure.
now a second chance, this rescue is no longer a mere make-believe fantasy;
the storybook form of insatiable intimacy and infatuation
finally strokes tender strings left unplucked within a heart in remission,
and this sort of love scales uncharted walls for my attention, climbing to reach -- of all people --
me.
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