Meetings With Muses

My muse tells me he's glad I came along;
She leans over his shoulder and we peek
At verses that are lyrical as songs -
And songs are always musical to seek;
His muse hummed as I slept - brought me awake
And, now, dressed in his shirt, I smell cologne;
He was hard; yet, he got up, so he'd make
An early start on verses that, I own,
Are rather good and make me want to peep
At his filled page; we'll bring him back to bed,
So he can come in us before we sleep;
His muse can smile to read all that we've said
To him - such wicked whispers - am I bad?
I came along - he tells me he is glad.