The Poet Does Not Sleep With The Muse

The poet does not sleep with the Muse.

Not even when drunk on his whisky eyes

out of it on the scent of his skin

trapped in the heat of his breath

melted like butter under his fingers

locked in with him entirely of her own volition

wrapped in his arms like a satisfied cat.

The poet does not sleep with the Muse

for fear that the poetry will go missing

like her heart.

No, the poet does not sleep with the Muse

unless - maybe if the Muse insists

she can't be expected to resist?

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The original quote that inspired this poem, thus proving that words can also find their way to being muses, is from this Guardian article.

"As everyone knew, the poet did not sleep with his muse, that was the whole point. He just yearned."