My muse
By Michelle Morris
02/10/2021
My muse wants to play.
She's tired of waiting patiently.
So many days I've been working;
No time to enjoy writing freely.
My muse enjoys the dance;
The rhythm of what we become,
Together synergistically,
Moving beyond space and time.
My muse loves her joy and laughter;
She expects me to entertain her still,
In the silent reverie of unspoken
Magic and memories.
My muse demands her standards met,
Each and every time we swim -
Through the infinity of space,
Between nothing and everything.
My muse instils her discipline;
She expects nothing less than all -
Knowing words are swords' masters;
Forever and ever echoing in the wind.
© Michelle Morris, 2021
My memory foam mattress
is so old
we seem to have lost our memory
Of what integrity
and when
and where
and how habitually
we have been lying about
Or even synergistically
just now talking about.
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