The muse isn’t physically present anymore
There was a time that I could simply look over at her…
Her beauty, her darkness, her intensity
Igniting instant fire in me from somewhere deep & pulsating outward
I couldn’t ignore the passion, the wetness in my soul
My dark muse
She was living, breathing, liquid art
She surfaced my madness
I didn’t know what to do with her or my feelings
I turned it into a wild, reckless creativity
And then …
She left me … destroyed, bleeding, and empty
My life ceased to be in some great way
I stopped morning her
I could not see or smell or taste or touch her anymore
I stopped creating
Old art still lying around … the remains of what was once so real
Suddenly though ..
When my conscious mind had almost forgotten her
Just as she left … she returned
Entering the room as always
Silent and clothed only by her own raw sexuality …
I heard her low voice in my ear
Felt her breath on my neck
Smelled her spicy perfume
Even tasted the salt of her skin
The familiarity scared me … I knew her instantly
Her nipples against my shoulder, stomach against my back, tongue on my neck
Spinning me around without any pretense
Holding me down with her eyes
Her lips consumed me while her hips tortured me
I was burning with the old heat & wet
With my own tears …
I had forgotten how I missed her
How much I needed her to return
The muse isn’t physically present anymore …
But she is with me now nevertheless
The constant ache to touch her overwhelming
The cravings to lay with her unbearable
And I will do the only thing I could ever do
Even when she was with me so long ago …
I will … create