Her angles to the conversation varied
I examined like one would a dream
Awoken and ****** back into reality
Coffee cups on the bedside table filled with tea

She spoke with an air of authority
Quick fast with flashes of a little girl
The twirl of her tongue within her mouth
A touching face that left my heart with doubt

She smelled like the dew after first rain
The work has most definitely changed
She - crossing through galaxies - praised me
But there was nothing truthful I could say

She was the reason why I would write
Call Her a muse if you will
But my hand when she is gone is still
There is still so much of the well to fill

She makes me a dependent child
Crying in my sleep at night
And in my terror and fright
I try to call out, but my throat is too tight

She makes her way around the borders of dream
She tip-toes around my once vigilant masculinity
The willpower I possessed is still there
But the resting best of myself is skinned bare

She tells tales that I believed to be true only in love
And I discover then that I am
We ride the frothy waves of the Pacific
All the way to a place quite unspecific

She makes her tea as I make coffee
We find no reason to quarrel about that
And on the dresser our faces smile to guests
We sleep, we die, together in infinite rest