Erato’s Plaything

The Muse caresses you

Your heart receives
the molten steel idea

You hold the cherry-red casting
there inside you

Until it cools enough to touch
Cools enough
that it won’t burn the paper

There it rests on the table
Still bearing the delicate traces
of her fingerprint

Published by

Chyfrin the Celtic poet

Artist, Poet, Electrical/Biomedical Engineer, Actor, Playwright, Set construction, Educator, Lover of womankind and single malt scotch

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