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Muse Season

Be my muse, one day, if not today.
I would like to draw the faces of your impurities,
etching them onto this very parchment.
I would like to inspire you with similar heavenly delights by which only you bring to my less brightened features,
greedily, and perhaps repulsively, drinking in your laughter at every sultry, dry blink as I cannot tear my eyes away from your words,
caress your limbs and the skin that blankets over your bones,
tightening them roughly around my most precious scarlet organ,
‘til the beating begins once more.
Be him forever.
Be my muse, one day, if not today.






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