Poetry Camp (February)
Fox-Trot-9

Day 7: To My Muse

She molds my breath of life into these words,
   Words I have longed to say to her sweet face;
   My muse is more than woman dressed in lace:
She's something of a warrior whose swords

Are words as sharp as any bladed weapon;
   She's something of a courtesan whose hair
   Flows to the floor in waves and frames her fair
Face like a portrait painting; when I step in

And stare at her in virgin-eyed surprise,
   Part of me yearns to feel and touch and love her
   (To look into her eyes when I'm above her
And hold her hands and kiss her lips and eyes).

And so, dear muse, just lead me on and I
   Shall pin you down with words of love and shame;
   For when I write I write for you: your name
Is in the countless words I've written by

The whisper of your voice into my ear;
   So when I read these words I spread your fame
   Into the ears of those who breathe acclaim
Upon the gallant majesties they hear.

So may these words emblazon on my art,
   That while I live, I live in search for thee,
   Who gave me breath and breathed new life in me,
Who gave me words of bravery: "Take heart!"

(To be continued . . .)

A/N: Sappy words for sappy times in my night-addled and sleep-deprived state of consciousness! Writing late into the night and towards the morning can do wonders to your writing, I should know. I used to do this all the time.