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.