Paperclip Necklace

You are not
a deck of cards,
containing cruel confidence tricks, masks
and ludic japes; the kind
that frot the mind and laugh
at the taker, stupidly surprised
by their own six of clubs.

Your conjuring
is done palms-up.
Bare set, no whiteface,
you slide bright paperclips
into each other. Pink shapes
elf-heel clicking
into blue; white, like
a geometric worm
accepts mustard-yellow;
tiny adders of purple
rubbing noses with grass asps.

Finished, you robe my neck
in the druid ring
of playschool-coloured metal,
and unknifed, uncurtained,
untransmigrated into a rabbit or bang
of glitter, I disappear.