"How can I be your muse?"
I ask, the painter
In wonderment
"What about your wife?"
I inquired
"Oh, a muse is a special connection"
He replied, wistfully
He placed his hand on mine
"It's not dirty!"
He said chuckling
However, the opposite of his words
Was implied
With the glint of his eyes
Her hair is vibrant
A gorgeous scarlet bounce
I smile at her
Even though she can't see me
While she holds hands with the painter
Crossing the street
"A muse is a special connection. It's not dirty"
I think
As I walk home
Thinking of scarlet paint
YOU ARE READING
A Collection of Poetry
PoetryThis book is a collection of original poems by me, there is no overall theme, idea or message with encompassed here. Updates every Tuesday!
