She was a muse,
And I was a writer.
Across oceans and mountains,
I traveled to find her.
She danced through the air,
Floating on mist,
Warming my heart,
With a butterfly kiss.
Every word that was spoken,
Felt like that of a song,
Voice of an Angel,
Could never go wrong.
Yes, she was my muse.
And I was a writer,
With a gasoline soul,
And she the lighter.
Explosive love
Sparks at a touch,
Electricity through bones,
Gave such a rush.
Yes she was my muse,
And I was her writer,
Nothing to lose,
Just filled with desire,
There she stayed,
For oh so long,
Not a word written,
Before she was gone.
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Comments3
Calliope is within us all who write poetry.
Andy
I wish I had more time to share my thoughts, but like many say (not easy to believe) you're a inspirational star!
Keep up the write my friend!
Always appreciated
wonderful flow, good write
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