Musings on a Muse
There is a profound emptiness in the lack of pretty green eyes. A void that no song could ever fill. A gap which no clever words could ever span. A chasm echoing with the memory of her embrace. I ache for the simple refreshments of her. The sound of her laugh. The way she leaned in when I reached to tuck wayward hair back behind a delicate ear. Her smile. The smell of her skin. The trail of freckles down a perfect body that made me want to play a naughty game of “connect the dots.” And then erase it and do it all over again. She is astoundingly complicated. Yet so graciously simple. Flawed, but perfectly so. Creative and brilliant, when she’s …
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