and I loved it...
the efficacy,
the efficiency,
obeying, used,
the being used
to muse,
all in one word,
verbed and j'accused,
identifying the culpritess
(for my M-use is
definitively a woman),
I say:
Please baby,
Please bossy,
Please sir,
muse me some more?
M-use me, use-me,
accuse-me, heck,
abuse-me,
my tongue, my lips,
(especially, my lips)
your devoted
poet-servant.
give me spiel,
words to make
them laugh,
groan and squeal,
do me baby,
one mo' time,
the big reveal.
you know I am
exclusive to you,
others get my body,
but only you
get my
my poetic
streams of screams
things I can
never confess,
peeve but at the hinted
whisper of them,
things that weaken me,
in the places
where poems
umbilically
die stillborn,
the chord
connecting
just us two,
it, that chord,
wrapped round
my throat
choking off
my special voice,
cause you want
just those words,
My Muse,
all for yourself
and I can't say no
to
My Muse,
My Conscience