Salacious Poet, For a Bitter Muse

I have admired many, so often, and wondered for whom they used to write their muses; if not for their lovers, then for whom? A poet like me who loved them for great things. Ah, I know— a different thought, a different style, but not that much concerns me, awhile, but the smile in you that beamed like magenta moon and lured strollers to kiss the twilight night, until it dimmed away, so were you, ditching the one you loved. Having dazed in the stolen memoirs of spring that was mine, I know now— admiration, sometimes, if not always has a bitter ending…in a poet’s lonely page!