Very rarely does a muse just walk right by your face.
She waits until you've had too much to drink and the sun begins to fade.
She creeps into your bedroom and watches you sleep.
Somehow you know it's not just your company you keep.
Though you know she lurks about, she still won't show.
She has a certain way of introducing herself, and the process can be slow.
But when she is ready, there's no denying her presence.
She flips a switch and ignites every one of your senses.
You reach for a pen and pad as she crawls up your thigh.
Her sweet scent will give you lasting butterflies.
The whispers in your ears send chills down your spine.
Though she's claiming you, she yearns to hear, "You're mine."
She pretends she dominates, but watch her submit.
As your pen glides across the paper, she becomes quiet.
It's only right to thank her for her midnight call.
You're left making love to words only she can draw.
You never know the time or place you'll meet again.
But she gets off on making you wait to destroy your next pen.
She might be a tease, but you'd follow her to the ends of the earth.
You are a writer, and she's your only chance at giving birth.
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