My Golem: A poem

Sometimes, I think, I have a peculiar name for you,

would you call it piquant if I suggested you are my Golem(?) –

Like I carved you from my own clay, and we were cleaved in two

We are like clones that are so abstractly apparent in distant fields apart

I just know that my own foliage is thick from your irrigational nurture

You arrived like my sunrise, plucking out the sun for me as you would

a sunflower from a forever field; reminding me of my Promethean indispensability

and anti-pusilanimity. I am just charged with no brevity, for bravery is sagaciously patient,

restraint is non-ephemerally altruistic, but justice is saliently eventual. I am confiding

with the spirit of matter that you created through me as I created through you.

I am many potent fingers in the jugglery of a joker, who’s magic

permeates the theatre like it was its phantom, never removed but with

peripheral invisibility, yet ominous! In such sleight of mastery, we become

empowered slaves among the waves; even auspicious stars among the graves,

and inevitable auguries amid the caves. I turn over the upholstery in the basement wine cellar

of my soul; and discover that you left your vintage-brand-mark all over, even whilst

you weren’t there! We are just like this in the name of the game. I could just as well

be the weathervane on your tower, you could be the  coxswain in my paddle-boat; as I

feel your wind and fire emblazon my ever-flying mane with an incorrigible anima!