Poems & Musings,  Writing

My Muse is a Bastard

I wish you wouldn’t insist on waking me

Early every morning, fingers in my hair,

Sweet words on your lips

An inch from my ear.

I rise from bed, drunk,

Full, ripe, words ready to spill forth;

Yet, as soon as pen touches paper,

They lighten, transform to cotton candy.

And melt away gently in the rain,

Leave me staring mutely at the page.

~ Sara Myriad 2021

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