Now that there can be no return,
now that the oft-repeating telephone has told
that you are gone , are gone ,
there yet must be some way that I can mould
a new love to replace the older one.
For, I remember , you were my creation.
Yes , you were mine , for from the golden flame
of a steady candle I fashioned flesh,
modelled it with love till it reached perfection
in those your lips , warm-red and satin-smooth.
And now I am caught again in this old mesh;
I can refashion love, give it another name
or call it Galatea , only to discover
that you and you alone are my new lover.