I'll Shake the Muse Today

I'll shake the muse today.

Pitch her upside down to see what she has for me.

Shouldn't really do that.

She spits crystal venom when I do,

all harsh dental hisses,

but she’s been reticent lately.

Sullen even.

Withdrawn.

Not her usual effervescent self

brimming with coquettish giggles,

slender legs, slipping alveolar scissors,

sliding fricatives between glistening lips.

Through bruised vulva mouth

she sang.  How she sang

those open-throated, gilded notes.

She’s not like that now I've shaken her.

Clammed up like....a clam.

I trace a fingertip, ridges soft, slipped

prints on her brittle skin.

Promises drip from my arid lips,

‘I’ll love her less, I’ll disobey

if only you would deign to stay

and sing to me of languid pools,

the skipping sunshine rising east

of a preening raven’s roosting tree

of light and dark and all between.

Oh heavenly muse please sing to me!’

Before me lights a butterfly,

lands soft upon the inkwell dry,

shakes two eyes and antennae

and to my muse I wave...

 
I shook the muse today,

and she rattled.