poem: Shadow of a Muse (from "Shards" poetry collection)

I created her
I can do as I like with her
spray her with water, sparkles and chill
leave her in the snow to winterkill.
Or I could marinate her
in a cauldron of bronze and gold
I could add spices to the brew
Until she's boiled anew.

You know I am Victor Frankenstein
I am her Dracula
I am God Himself to her
I will do as I please and send her on the battle line
Where a company of soldiers will have their taste of her soft flesh
I shall lock her in a tower where she will never know man's scent.
I made her
and I can break her.

I will whisper sweetly to her
But only when I am sweet.
Other times I will yell and lash her
And with tears and hair, she'll wash my feet.
If she ever tried to stand her ground
With small trembling shoulders
I would stare and laugh.
"My darling, do not go there."

You know that I am the sculptor
and she the shadow of my muse
She is only worth what I say
Or worth the ways she can be used
If you suggest that she exists in a world beyond my lab
I will promise you, mister, that you are mad.
I made her
and I can break her.

I know that she has stood
Over my bed as I sleep,
Her breath in shallow waves,
A sculptor's scalpel in hand.
But I shiver not in the shade of her form
I know her capabilities
What she can and cannot do to me
"My darling, go back to ---"