Well, any will do. This poem was written for dVerse where the inspiration is “muse.” Thank you, Ingrid! Of course, my muse decided to be Puckish, so we went with it.
Ply Me with Wicked Words
Dear dear muse of mine where have you decided to recline? Not nearby for certain, I’ve checked behind the curtain. Dear dear muse did I neglect the amuse-bouche, you foodie fraulein? Did I pursue work-work instead of listening to your voice, but what choice have I if food should on the table be? Can’t you see, foodie glutton, no mutton for us, nuttin’ is more like it, when you butt in on my work-work? I do love you, dear dear muse, although, yes, I accuse you with easily bruised ego of diva style when my delaying you becomes a trial no smile can transcend. When I need you to appear, pen in hand or blinking cursor, you disappear, mock me to tears, imbed fears, wearying jeers as years ebb from my life due to your strife, just take a knife to me or politely offer a pittance of empathy or better, a symphony of wicked words.