New Muse

Intoxicated as I am,
For once not the scotch, the wine or the beer,
Or some other vice,
No they may remain absent,
(unless over an Oyster dinner or dancing to excess)
Surely you are a pearl,
as my world reveals anew that it is my oyster,
No,
Intoxicated as I am,
I need not vice,
For why would I want to dull this sweet ascending allure,
No need,
New Muse,
This intoxication is much more powerful,
And has meaning beyond all else,
For there you stand,
Dressed to the nines,
Tickled lips and souls,
New Muse,
Wonderful Muse,
All my life I have wanted for nothing more,
(understanding again how Woody Allen does his thing)
(perhaps you’ll stay a little longer than Diane Keaton)
All my life,
And these words are my life,
I have been wounded time and again,
Though always searching for nothing more,
Than a Muse to alight my greatest enthrallments,
And lucky though I have been,
Perhaps fortune favours the bold,
It seems that words like these,
Have escaped me,
Since the time of Plato’s intellectual reign,
Or at least it feels that way,
Since Pancho escorted Quixote,
And I found an impossible dream,
New Muse,
Wonderful Muse,
Not a moment to soon,
As I enter the zenith of a writing cycle that has uplifted,
My darkened soul,
Not tardy at all,
(though you make me want to be late for everything save a date)
In fact,
Just in time,
As if a Japanese Motor Executive read my mind,
As here you are,
New Muse,
How am I excited by the way your eyes sparkle like a distant constellation,
How am I energized by the way your hands do grace my skin,
Evaporating any sense of consternation,
Save those that only pills can manage,
Shall we retire,
Into this mental dictionary,
Shall we retire,
(though never tiring)
into your Thesaurus,
Unearth the secrets that I long to write,
Reveal them here,
As Muse,
You have revealed that as one door closes,
Another is opened,
And that it is my choice,
My choice,
As to whether or not I will enter it,
Or continue to spin in the whirlwind of a revolving door,
Muse,
Though accidents are certain,
Here I can not believe,
That Fate, Destiny and Time,
Have revealed you here and now,
So that I may repel your disarming charms,
And you disarm me,
Alarmed by words I write,
Those flow from me like innocent revelations of my soul,
(and not so innocent cravings)
Muse,
Who communes with the inner workings of me,
In ways I’d never believed another could,
Accepting in me the faults that have driven others away,
Thus I wonder,
Though you are close,
And my writing sentiments are fulfilling,
Will you stay a while,
Let me bathe in your words,
Allow me the room to create what you inspire,
Bask in the glory held in the promise of this ceaseless flow,
Muse,
New Muse,
Intoxicated by you,
Excited more now that these words again can claim,
A piece I’d thought long died,
Emotional servitude and suicide,
But no more,
As I humbled before you,
Can not contain this childlike awe and excitement,
I implore,
Let me adore,
Help me soar,
Reveal to this world what I have in store,
Muse,
New Muse…
May I resign in your bosom,
Suckling from you,
Words,
Such as these.
 
I am at a loss for words,
Inebriated by timing,
And you.
 
SDM

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