A muse, a muse,
give me something I can use.
A wisp of hair,
a scent, perfume.
The sweet caress
of silk and lace.
A summer dress,
a pretty face.
A soft and supple female figure.
A woman I can hold with vigor.
All I want, to be inspired,
to send that shock
that once is fired,
sets ablaze
that cunning spark
that in the night,
the gloom and dark,
will afford some comfort,
peace of mind,
and dare I hope
just might unwind
that tricky, tangled
web of wonders
so entwined
with all the blunders
jostling heavy through my brain,
that woeful mess
that causes pain
from all it’s inarticulence,
that finds me left
with no defence,
but hope,
but longing,
but self abuse,
when all I need
is just a muse.
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