You know how your Muse sometimes deserts you and you find yourself, mouth dry, with no inspiration to draw from? Yeah, me either….NOT!
It’s hot but my inspiration is not.
I pick up my Muse
And lick the cool breeze from Her skin
Hoping for words to chill a soul.
Knowing that She is only skin deep
And that creativity
Lies within my own hot breath.
As She melts against my tongue
I taste the next line of my poem
And shiver in anticipation.