I Want to Call Him My Muse

I want to call him my muse,
write verses down his back and press my lips against them so I can taste his poetry..

Find trails in his palms that tell me his story...
Get lost in his eyes....he'll leave me searching.

I want to call him my muse,
write similes on his chest so I may compare his heartbeat to thunder...

Find songs within the silences we indulge in...
Get lost within the memories he revisits.

I want to call him my muse,
outline his hips with syllables so I may measure them just to my liking...

Find imagery in the scars he has worn so proudly...
Get lost within the arch of his back...as he pushes enough to come find me.

I want to call him my muse,
draw stars above his lips so I may ride his shooting star to Venus...

Find ecstasy at his fingertips...and remain enchanted by the way my body fits so well with his...

I want to call him my muse,
before my verses cease to entertain me....

I want to call him my muse,
create reality through the ink and write my name with his...and find out that my happily ever after was retained in his poetry...

He Has Left Me

I fear that love has left me...
packed its bags,
left no notice,
left the corners full of cobb webbs.

Love has left me....
like the presence of light from the eyes of those who have been scarred by darkened intentions...

Love has left me...
like memories staying behind --detached from childhood; reminiscing...behind like Saturday morning feel good moments while mom and dad were once in the background kissing.

I've asked you to help me find love,
remind him of the moments when he'd paint blank canvas'...
He was an artist,
making things move through simple contact; through words unspoken.
Camoflouged so well!
He had my eyes ignoring glitches...made some flawless.

And if you find him,
tell him my iris misses his imagination.
The way he placed stars across my chest and had me riding constellations...and at times a simple kiss would make me breathless -- and often have me weakened.

Let love find me, before the door to the chambers harden,
before the bed he once lay in is stolen...
before I never utter his name and eternally remain--unopened.