A parasite attached and fed on blood,
Within the woman he began his growth
As did his hunger and defining form,
And, writhing, flailing, in a cushioning sea,
He felt her warmth, but could not feel her pain.
When she evicted him he screamed himself.
He found the woman ripe with mother’s milk
When he, a helpless lump of hungry flesh,
Could only say his need in wordless wail.
He saw rhe woman as his one way back.
To that edenic womb that pacified
Without exacting anything from him.
A gawky, fumbling youth, he saw her then
As needed proof of who and what he was–
A hunted hunter judged by what he caught.
Then, lubricated in the coupling dance
Of life and death, he trembled, numb and spent,
Unsure of anything but repetition.
He saw the woman as a looming lure,
An addicts fix, another hungry other
Devouring worlds to justify existence.
He saw the unity a moment gave,
That ecstasy of two becoming one,
Could not make jealous any timeless god.
And, yet he saw her as the missing piece
Of puzzles of his image of himself,
As somehow joining isolated themes.
It will not do to ask how his sight failed.
He saw within the hurt of who he was.
His cruelest lies were those he needed most.
(Thanks Jonquil for the edit.)