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He sits with his thoughts
Gazing at the clouds
or
Studying the moon
Contemplating his next piece
with dilligence
Executing with love
Allowing himself to be vulnerable
This willingness draws me in
as I think of laying at his feet
Listening to his words
Lingering and
Resounding in my heart
As I pretend that every poem that says
Her
is about me
No one probably ever told him
or maybe he does not care
That his words
Could cause a lady like me to
Rub his back
Massage his feet
Bring him breakfast in bed
To continue to hear the pearls that he chooses to speak
I know women would
Clean the house
Scratch his scalp
Run bubbles baths
Become his Muse
That encourages him to
Examine the conditions of his life
as he weeps on paper
Bringing tears to their eyes
As they fantasize
Of kissing the pain away
