"My Lady" by Brian Buckley

My Lady

Oh lady, my lady, the night I was born
I smelled something sweet – the perfume you had worn
I think even then I knew something was strange
An eddy, perhaps, in the currents of change
I may have been dreaming, but nevertheless
You cradled me soft in the silk of your dress
You told me, in whispers, of castles of gold
Then handed me back to my mother to hold
You sank your fangs early, you pushed them in deep
But how could I know it, an infant, asleep?

Oh lady, my lady, when I was but ten
You came on a visit to see me again
With flicks of your hand you brought light from the air
And made it to tangle and somersault there
Then set it to burning and colored it blue
You said it was magic – I already knew
You gave me a penny and told me to play
And said maybe you would be back the next day
A day came and went and another one too
I still have the penny – what happened to you?

Oh lady, my lady, when I was eighteen
I found you one day in a meadow of green
And though I was older, you still looked the same
How happy I was you remembered my name!
For weeks I would meet you; for me it was bliss
And once, only once, did I try for a kiss
How clear I remember your look of disgust
As if I had smeared some immaculate trust –
Back then I felt guilty. I now understand
How fully I lay in the palm of your hand.

Oh lady, my lady, you weren’t unaware
How perfect you looked with the moon in your hair
Was there even once that your laughter was free
Or was it all acted out solely for me?
Our lives kept on going – by thirty, I’d wed
But still wished that I could have had you instead
I no longer liked you, but love wouldn’t die
I’d smile when I saw you without knowing why
At night you would slip in my visions and stay –
It’s more than I saw of you during the day.

Oh lady, my lady, who never was mine
Your purpose was human – your eyes were divine
My wife is a section of earth and a stone
As cold as December and just as alone
My hands are now mottled, but you to this day
Are perfect, no wrinkles, no hair that is gray
Your lips, never touched, make a beautiful smile
You beckon me over to sit for a while
And I would refuse you, if I had the will
Or if I could stop myself loving you still!