I forget my manners, royalty and their standards.
My genie made me a prince, the torture persists–
Your vessel is beautiful; it moves and grows without you.
–When I kiss the binds that mar your wrists.
Is it twisted to desire and aspire to a spire; our tower.
I bathe you in compliments: your modesty, you shower.
Two wishes remain, what must I think to find,
Your freedom, you won’t claim; it’s furthest from your mind.
There must be an absurdly worded upside to immortality.
You’ve spoken of only one other master, that didn’t end in tragedy.
Maybe this freedom is just a formality, but know I’d free you happily.
Is it lonely a dimension beyond time?
–Navaj od hou eusmaj, houj wiud too push ot yaej em.
Wust ab uica paiug fjaa–