The first time your fragile beauty enchanted him, beyond what he could imagine.
Your hair, your thin body, those eyes, he marvelled at how nature could create such a jewel, and through the glass, the dream came alive, independent, obstinate.
You haunted his nights, by day he walked the streets, your image overlaid on all others, the slow torture of his obsession nestled in his heart.
The second time you were all tears and despair: you told him of your failures, your face the glow of a Vermeer, so vulnerable he thought, as he kissed you.
You agreed to meet again, and he knew then he was now locked in your dream.
(Inspired by Carol Ann Duffy’s poem Pygmalion’s Bride, and by you, my model)