Musings

“Calliope says practice magic, 
But I’m not a clockwork toy;
I know what sorrow befalls men
who walk that fruitless path of toil”,
I say as she pins me to wall with pen when I should eat. 
What a pretty artifice that I am above thee
I would give in to your lucid touch 
     if you had fingers
To your voice 
     if you still had one
To your task 
     if it would linger
But to kiss me and then whisper 
as you fade off in the dark is
Bitter, Mistress, I will miss you

But for magic I’ve no art.