I invade your realm
to drift like smoke
from candles newly lit,
where flame ignites the wick...
that bitter scent is mine
 
I mistook
the hammer blows of forging
for love.
That liquid essence of metal
poured into the open wound of my creation
I misread for tenderness 
when sealed with a cooling, deliberate touch.  

Those awful, soul locking syllables of binding
were the only endearments
I knew in the furnace glow of alchemy.

What matter if the chain breaks
I veer, directionless
keening in the afterglow of uncompromising service
The Summoner consumed and silenced.
 

Imperfect pawn is all I can aspire to be
flawed of spirit, unpracticed in love
no potent ravisher of hearts
but curious and willing
tenitive and slow
patient through eons of neglect.