The Muse

snowymntmorning

It is your life force that draws them in. A pure mountain stream of surprising, cold, child-like nectar.

Raw and shocking, tangible and thick like wet thrown clay. Firm, fragile, ever bending. They want to rest in your still slick bowl.

Before, you tried to fill the space with more.

Now, you are learning to let it be.

Like icy crystallines gracing the brittle air of a winter morning; it is enough. There is nothing to add.

It doesn’t mean you have it all figured out. Or that you won’t change your mind.  You’re not extra brilliant or infallible.

It simply means – passion stains your unkept nail beds. Energy breathes in constant vapors from your chapped lips. When you talk, it is with thrust and conviction. When you laugh it is with sensuality and promise. Weak, yet strong. Wanting, yet all knowing.

You are simply, their muse.

 

 

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