The Muse
The Muse
She sat on my bed, red mouth scattering.
Drinking my smoke and comfort.
I was dancing diet pill, with ear buds.
Pestering on my shoulder,
was her dead lovely.
I, am smell of sometimes,
Her, a voice of flavor on the tip.
A whisper of fever,
In her caves,of poor light.
Desire is focused in holes in ceiling tiles,
Ear into eyes, unable to divert.
Her wisdom , a days mock frolic,
Shutting down my nervous faculties.
Feeling small in her Uni-verse,
Mime tracing her outline,
Stubbornly secret,in her intent,
The words flint for wanting.
Adaptation the influence,
No one wants to see,
I loving a soul, be for ********.
In the moment stunned by her pristine.
Her works she read,
I realized consumed,
The famine mentor, critiquing me rightly,
Charring to a birth within.
And to give shine to an apple,
In her decreeing eye,
I became a heroin's lover,
Microsoft Zen for months.
Regretting I wrote weak-soft,
Now to coffee and wanting it bitter black,
Muse subservient to her a speaking fantasy,
As her red mouth scattered.
(for Silva)
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment