Slide

Sliding slowly from the rhyme
The rhythm something else
My muse won't have it
So she says
So I just might comply

But it's a struggle to convert
And end the fucking rhyme
Yet some lines are short
And hopefully
Get right to the point

I take my muse
And strap her down
Tell her that I'm in charge
She can take a flying flock
If she resists at all

I stick my cock
Within her mouth
And slide between her lips
Her instructions are then garbled
Incoherent in the night

I believe she sees my point
About adherence to my style
And I see the shining in her eyes
Some vague luminosity
But no sign of any tears.