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)