Muse.

(Read it for the music.  Try to find the rhythm in the writing, and read with it.)

What is my muse?  The smell of my hands,
The waves on the rocks, the freckles on my skin.
That guy in the restaurant, his beautiful tan
His yoga-perfect wife, her long, slender limbs.

The flags on the pathway- Britain, China,
Israel, Brazil, Canada, Mozambique.
This uncertain girl, golden skin like the playa.
Walking down the pathway, dark sunglasses tres, tres chic.

What is my muse?  Every dream I’ve ever had-
A boat in deep water, open curtains, let me inimg_0778
Green eyes on her face, inexplicably sad.
His yoga-perfect wife, and her long, slender limbs.

That gorgeous turquoise hammock, peanut butter, and papaya
The vein across my leg, that runs diagonal to my feet.
Supermodels in bikinis on the cover of Esquire
Walking down the runway, dark sunglasses tres, tres chic.

What is my muse?  Spinning planets, salty oceans
A simple man with simple goals, by the name of Pete.
His yoga-perfect wife, her long, slender limbs
Walking down the pathway, dark sunglasses tres, tres chic.

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One Response to Muse.

  1. Brynn says:

    This is on of my favorites so far lady. There is rhythm, mystery, disorientation as to the who and the what… but it all makes perfect chaotic sense. Tres, tres chic.

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