A Confession

I must confess you often seem to me
A living image of my anima within;
A supple, dark-eyed wench I like to see
In terms of Cleopatra or Nell Gwyn.
But since you are both wife and mother true,
I always keep this fantasy confined;
And when I have a chance to be with you,
I talk about more noble states of mind.
Although your beauty is an actual fact,
That I refrain from praise is just as well:
Projection stems from mental cataract
And blindly turns a heaven into hell.
Admitting this, my mind has cleared its eye
And guaranteed our friendship will not die.
Michael Peach
29 May 2004




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