I have no muse.

not good enough.

hint at the world; give it a wink so it knows.
(at least it knows–)
give me the surface and let your fingertips
chatter away for your lips are too tired.
sketch the scenario in midair–
an enigma that can’t be seen by anyone else,
except, say, you, and, perhaps, me,
with each comma defining uncertainty.

two weeks.

I still can’t write.  Inspired, but mostly tired. I have no muse.

(’tis sad how the next few lines have made me sadder.)

it’s probably because you, in your
entirety, make me happy.

it was reason enough.

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