Half past nine
And the night feels so young
Despite eyelids too heavy to open

Inspiration
On the tip of the tongue
And tapping fingers on keys.

Thoughts prevail wrapped in affection
And the door to originality is awry
Affection and Muse mix seamlessly.

Confusion in delusions
What could and should scrape by
The heart and the pen are insoluble.

Panic within existentialism
No words come to mind
Affection is not Muse.

Separation of heart and hand
Leave old alliances behind
For Muse or for Affection?