If I failed, Adam,
to gratify your every whim,
look me in the eye,
ask that I leave by
blue dusk to mask the flame
of my hair, your tearful shame
only witnessed by our Sculptor
as you demand He mold another.
Make certain she is formed from you
so she will never question the true
nature of her existence,
so the only resistance
you’ll encounter is in dreams,
my hands and mouth and streams
of flaming curls, your throat choking on
my name as you roll awake at dawn.
Your lips will part to call the one you’re with
but all your heart will ever howl is Lilith.
Poem by Ciara Shuttleworth, image from my Sacred & Profane series.