the bright night moon is straight up
fat and full like a pregnant spider
and the muse is back
stomping my tits
with her fuck me boots
demanding more and more of my time
strangling me with my own hair
i try to sleep but she is everpresent
the itch i can’t quite reach
the freckles on my face
forever floating in my mind
covering my legs with sweet honeycomb
and fragrant flowers
i smile
but not enough for her to see
she gets off on the flattery
we lie together in the quiet darkness
and i watch the moon as she whispers
write
write
write
