Often I call a vision of my muse to come
and visit me, holding a pen - for her to drop
it so I can pick up both her and it, setting
her on my lap, one hand her around her waist,
holding tight while embedding my shaft
inside her, making one flesh, and write
with something more than mere blood
flowing in my veins; black ink and some
ghostly, ethereal part of her, haunting blood,
flesh and thought and word, and from that,
some fragmentary echo being inscribed in
the words that come alive from my desire.
22.07.-03.08.2024
Poem Poems Poetry Verse
#Poem #Poems #Poetry #Verse
Ei kommentteja:
Lähetä kommentti