A muse is like the most beautiful woman.
When she comes to you,
Desiring to make love,
You best make yourself ready.
She doesn’t come for anyone.
She needs to know that you desire her,
She needs to be wooed.
A muse will love you like no other,
But only if you do the work.
Don’t buy her flowers,
She doesn’t need those.
Don’t cook for her,
Don’t take her to the movies,
Or to the park, or to a place of wonder.
She needs but one thing,
For you to give her your all.
She orgasms only if you
Move your fingers in the right way,
Only if you reach that rhythm,
Only if you paint that picture,
Only if you dance that way,
Only if you give her your mind,
Your heart, your body,
And your soul.
And when she cums,
The world becomes beauty.
When your muse reaches her climax,
Your fingers move with the speed of Hermes,
Your heart beats with the strength of Hercules,
Your creations shine with the beauty of Afrodite,
And your body thrums with her release.
There is nothing more sexual,
More liberating, more all-consuming,
Than making love to your muse,
For when she oozes pleasure upon you,
It is not your sex that moves her,
But your desire to write,
to dance,
to sing,
to paint,
to act,
to perform the art that is HER.