The Famished Muse

Eyes laden with reluctant tears,
she sends a summons to her Muse,
but receives only silence.
Behind her lips, a gift lay dead.

With no mirror to reflect her words,
she wrenches free her heart instead.
“Eat of my heart!” she exclaims in pain.
“For though it be bitter, it tastes of me!”

The Muse, intrigued, devours it raw
clutching its quivers in his throat.
“Your misery is so rich…” he sighed,
“I find its flavor sweet.”

Written August 15, 2001