The first night
I endured your creation
We talked desperately
Foraging the details of my youth
Like two tramps at a tip:
Finding riches among the rubble was your Romance.
I remember diving into the pit but coming up
Glittering in your eye-
Goldleaf or edge of a**egai:
You were always bountiful with fantasy,
Fashioning me your Image or casting me Native:
White woman, womb of myth foundry or funeral pyre
To be reborn to your desire!
Afterwards, when the drunkenness of words
Receded, the pool of myth
Evaporated to uncomfortable sweat,
The residue of memory
Of a mere instant of delight,
You, in the cruelty of morning flight,
Face composed and underclothing
Unruffled by experience,
Return so crisply, so unambiguously
To sunlight.
Whilst I, coiled blackly within myself,
Paralysed with rage and wonder,
Straining still to sense your presence,
Craving still the magic of your making.