Erato

Once I had a muse. She lingered in my dreams and fed me lines and lies dipped in honey. Pages and pages I filled with foolish and empty rhetoric on love. I was in love. But once I treated her to a night in the city she vanished among the tangled streets. Without a word. I was left alone under the flashing neon lights, with the sound of sirens singing in my ears. Long nights since I have searched, and searched, for her, and found nothing. Once I thought I found her in a bar on 4th serving duck farts and redheaded sluts over the counter, but the gothic lipstick was wrong. The feeling was wrong. I was wrong. But I took her home anyway. When I woke in the morning blank pages met my eyes, and I could not fill them other than a few constipated and bitter lines. Of truth. Time passes, but I still wake at night tangled in blankets and sweat, clinging to cheap motel pillows, with the echo of her name ringing across the room. Whether a plea or a curse I cannot tell.

~Joseph Devenport