Pygmalion
After Golden Navel (Chrysomphalina chrysophylla)
Resenting that which once seemed beautiful,
I split the band inscribed with both our names.
A broken ring committed to the flames;
mistakes, made molten, in the crucible.
While mortal creatures have their mortal needs
this new wife – cast from gold – won’t nag or rage.
She’ll never falter, or grow worn from age.
This gilded Venus loves me: guaranteed.
But, what’s that look that plays around her eyes?
A golden smirk, her silence, an attack?
To forge a lover is a heinous act;
our partner’s traits cannot be customised.
Relationships are built on mutual trust.
Inanimate, the statue gathers dust.
LM
Listen to the poet perform the poem here.
Image via unsplash.com
