Standing resplendent in a baroque topiary,
Under a florid arbour as an arched canopy,
Her pulchritude in moonlight, is the plenary
Picture of, the muse, the Goddess Calliope.

My heart’s reminiscence of our first encounter,
Like a fragrance in my mind wafts around,
Whose Pareidolia in every-thing sketches her
Face, to which it is entirely spellbound.

Were the Fates to keep us apart,
As the sculptor Pygmalion I would be.
But Aphrodite won’t breathe life into my art,
For not my Galatea, I love my Calliope.

Sipping espresso, double affogato of course, topped with cream and
Chatting with Miles, I saw Calliope sauntered in from the rain.
Her dark mascara limped away from her crystal blue eyes
As she waited for the barrister to turn his head.
And when taking her cup,
Somewhere between Bird’s schizophrenic riffs
And Blakey's syncopation.
I fell in love
As I watched  her lips purse and
Blow casually at the lid, cooling the
Fiery liquids inside but igniting mine.
I decided to ask what brought  her in from the
Rain.
My words  queued in my throat as I stood
To speak.
My knees cracked, testifying to the years I stood on them.
My heart tapped out a cadence as I strode
Over to her  table.
I could smell spice and ginger of  a perfume I knew so well.
Her chestnut hair fell in damp tendrils across her forehead.
Extending my hand with a napkin on the end I said, “ I would love if you joined
Me for a biscotti.”
With a sparkle in her eye her painted lips slid across her teeth,
“I am waiting for a friend.”
Walking away I sat dejected but not rejected because as she
Conversed with him she peeked at me
My Calliope
And all was well.

~AD~