Muse

I am like the canvas stretched tight and dryed against the frame feeling her fingers touching me, rubbing me, preparing me and pressing out the few sparse wrinkles against the hard wood.

Soon she will trail the cool thick paint smoothing it over me.

I love her touch against my sides holding me firmly in her strong artist's hand....she pours forth her soul. Creating me.

A tear splash. I soak it up lovingly in the fibers of my being and come to life.

She is my sweet muse, my artist, my poet, my shaman, my lover.