What is a muse but for a man by design.
Her heart weighs heavy when he is weak.
Her eyes lowered when words will not reach him.
Her breasts heave to please him.
The vixen comes and goes when needed.
And yet her love is pure.

"I am the solid rock foundation
on his sandy shore.
I am the phoenix fire made
my arms of smoke adore his soul though quick and fleeting
I will find him."

And though my words may quick deceive you,
know a muse, her love, will never leave you.

Whether it be with hands, to wash and mend,
or pick up what is broken,
Whether to defend if needs be the lost, the lonesome,
Whether just a little token forgotten is something.

She is something to him.

Feminine to measure his harshness,
Polymath to map the way he works,
Movement subtle, gentle in her wanting,
Renaissance method is where she finds the source
of creativity to inspire,
And agape allegiance to steer his course.
Written by EslieAnna (The Ill-Made Muse)
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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