Muse’s Breath

Her lips; cracked, split, crusted with blood She pours poison thick and oily into my consciousness.

Her lips; pulled taught thin like blades of grass She whistles Her breath whipping the waters of my soul into a turbulent, frothing, descent

Her lips; full, swollen with promise Her tongue sliding, whispering, searching wetly along the base of my skull merely a bony ridge away from the soft gray tissue of my thoughts.

Her smile; broad and toothy She grins knowingly. I am her willing, chained and branded in her service.

This poem is written in response to the kind and creative John Haslam’s response to Jason Edmunds’ writing prompt What does poetry whisper to you? I would very much enjoy seeing a prompt response from Benighted Praise Frank Martin Morrison John Hansen Arie Castle and Heather Lengyel.

I very much enjoyed thinking about and responding to the prompt and have to say that, while I appreciate everything poetry writing as helped me to accomplish personally, I still deeply fear the consequences of the words I put to the page. This poem conveys the love/hate relationship I have, on most days, with my creative outlet.

America writer