Muse #2
The greatest art never sees the light of day
An ironic pair.
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2.0
Lust strokes the mind with gullible fantasies.
Your lucid stare is my undoing. I not want this sensation to linger, it sickens me. Damn your ravishing beauty, I do not consent! Please yield to reason...attraction is not a choice. How to express my struggling palette. Years of silence sutured shut by suffering the allure of this lust. What must I do? Levitate? Cure poverty? You break me. Lust strokes the mind with gullible fantasies. Am I gullible? AM I?! 2.1
Drink your pain through swollen eyes, what secrets nest between shameful lies. Thicker than syrup pickles the heart, it rots off the vine, a destiny you cannot chart. You are a muse, a perfect storm, I wallow in froth, my confidence shorn. You know not your effect on me, I welcome unconsciousness, is to be. You haunt my kind, poets are curious breed, meet me halfway, that’s all I need. Yes, yes, yes, acquiesce Yes, yes, YES, acquiesce Yes, YES, YES, acquiesce YES, YES, YES, ACQUIESCE! 2.2
Soapy-thighs breach the brine, bubbling drool hissing for a naked shrine. Lips like bleeding grubs, eyes like black soup, skin taut as honey, infects by the scoop. 2.3
Drinking Paint Inspiration toys with our need to impress, the choir of fire is our destiny to express. Heroin is dull, wine is no saint, syrup of wiccans thickens pasty mouths, drinking paint. Noxious swill fill my mind with thrilling, my destiny to impress must convince the unwilling. I dare to know for you to listen, sanity is a fairy-tale we choose to christen. I’m no longer a muse to tickling your fuse, drinking paint is drunk by the tartest…of artists. 2.4
Sipping Thoughts Your eyes sing your mind’s longing. I’ll not pursue. Words are foolish. Loneliness is an ironic mercy. I’ll starve from you. Fallible frost corrupt thine ears sipping thoughts unproven. Ophelia…bleeds butter. Sneezes delight my eyes, I weep. Words are foolish to describe perfection. This is why I never try. Ophelia, words are foolish. I am not a fool. |
Ferocious magnetism. |
The End
What makes you a muse?
Let's talk. I want to document your life through the anonymity of my poetry. People who read your poetry will realize how beautiful you are without knowing what you look like. The body is a consequence of the mind; the mind is a monster. Why? Hell is in the head (biblically). If you remove the body from the equation, the mind is forced to focus on empathy. Why? It feels isolated. Within that is solitude...where there is no prospect of sexuality interfering with your value.
Through your online activity I develop an understanding of your essence. Those who step forward will be assigned a number. That number is the only link from my poetry to your essence.
You are free to use my poetry to share yourself in ways sexuality cannot.
Through your online activity I develop an understanding of your essence. Those who step forward will be assigned a number. That number is the only link from my poetry to your essence.
You are free to use my poetry to share yourself in ways sexuality cannot.