Imaginary you! You are not what
I think. Phantasmagory at the focal
points of my desire, you subsist till
tricks insomnia has taught
me drive my private sides of you from thought.
I see through you. I know that, mine, you will
not be mine. So let this vade retro dispel
your daemon, fetching figment I wrought.
And you, imago, inexorably
assuming her aspect.
You are the finer of the two.
She disappoints, leads astray. She
always refuses to stay perfect,
imaginary, intangible you.
*
A sonnet from 1975, a relic from Montreal which was polished and finished in Berkeley.
It has two addressees, the lover herself, and her imago, the inner image I am trying to disentangle from the presential, physical desire which motivated this affair, one which marked me for life.