Gone

Gentlemen,
Your muses are yours.
I imagine them,
Teasing, untouchable
Various forms of perfect Greek goddess,
Carved in the purest alabaster,
Staged in nature,
Communicating in thought
Knowing your inner desires
The epitome of virginal.

She doesn't compare to mine.
My muse is of the earth,
Robust,
Dangerous,
Demanding
Offering temptation on one hand,
And comfort on the other.

And when he visits,
I run and run,
Lungs heaving,
Sucking in adventure,
Swimming in his dark rivers and musky forests,
Recalling on the train delicious memories of last night
Tasting his soft kiss on my lips in work
Smiling secretly, into my stomach.

Until he leaves.
Which he does.
I am bereft, again.
Longing begins, his kiss cold,
And words spill out, waiting for his knock at the door.




Poetry by 1LFD
Read 51 times
Written on 2022-07-24 at 20:45

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D G Moody The PoetBay support member heart!
What an evocation of your muse! It seems clear that you are in full communion with yours, so keep running friend.
2022-07-25


Alan J Ripley
This is soo lovely, muse's come in all shapes and sizes,
Mine would probably be in the shape of a bag of potatoes.
With a face like a toad oh sorry that's just me,
You can use me as a muse anytime you want.
Regards Alan xx
2022-07-25