Saturday, April 30, 2005

muse

You are my muse,
sitting in the branches,
presiding over me
as I write
beneath the tree.

You are my muse;
I make love to you
in my journal.
I turn the pages
of our bed,
and write you
between the sheets.

You are my muse,
gazing down at me
from above.
Dangling your long,
golden strands.
I smell them.
I taste them.
I write you.

You are my muse,
the one with whom
I obsess.
You are my life.
My life is this poetry.
You are my poem.

7 comments:

Anonymous Poet said...

Whoever she is, she must be great to inspire this! I really like the last line, which ties everything together.

gulnaz said...

You are my muse;
I make love to you
in my journal.
I turn the pages
of our bed,
and write you
between the sheets

this stanza is my favourite. :)
keep writing.

_Soulless_ said...

Romantic. Tender. Devoted.

^_^

boo said...

I agree with gulnaz, that stanza is...i cant think of a word for it, but its a positive word. I never saw a bed like that before, but when you compare love to poetry it makes sense.

"you are my poem" - Ani Difranco refered to people as poems in her poem 'Self Evident' - i urge people to take a look.

vAgue said...

sometimes we write what we feel
sometimes we write what perceive
if it is the former, you must feel great
:)

Pincushion said...

sigh..she is so lucky!
and yes..gulnaz's fav verse is mine too!

you have poured your soul into this..
beautiful..

iamnasra said...

I love the whole poem...its really amazing very different from your other poems...You have amazed us over here