Muse

She's here, but not. She's looking at her
Phone in silence, as I have to have her be.
I call her muse and kiss her face. I take
Her into bed with me, but, at this moment,
As I write, I cannot have her speak or touch
Me. I must be alone to do this, and for whom?
For her, myself? I cannot say. I write about
Her, understanding she is who inspires me,
But only when she doesn't loom too close.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 33 times
Written on 2021-09-09 at 10:24

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