To the Lighthouse

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I let my hair down.

And  made a river of red locks

and  cross the precipice gulfing in front of your red door.

I can’t swim.

But used my palms as paddles and your face as beacon

to carry me closer to your earthly home.

There was a sign on it.

Home for sale.

Spiderwebs at the corners

(like the wrinkles  around your eyes)

and on the doorknob.

Nobody had dared to knock on you(r door).

Or if knocked, you never answered.

I broke it down.

And let myself in.

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