Realising a muse*

I could write such things...
But oh, when matters prevail
Like stormclouds waiting
Hovering mosquitoes
Kissing your blood until it hums
Lick sweet salty remains.

Unashamed of her nakedness
The muse
A vile temptress of hallowed glory:
Rotten with imagination
Spores are distressed ideas
floating
She will reach out
Catching mind play
And place such a seed in your head
Where it will root
Art grows thick