Muse Wanted

Don’t read this if you don’t intend to call,
or write, or email; you know what I mean.
Unless you don’t, unless you think that all
a poet needs is words. Don’t be obscene.
I need a muse, my last one went insane,
a thing my muses seem inclined to do
while wandering around within my brain,
my heart, my soul—she knew. Of course she knew.
You may insist, like her, that you’re the one,
who knows the inner workings of my heart.
You should be willing (she was not) to shun
the urge to go insane when we’re apart.
Profess your love, if that is what you choose,
but I must write, and so I need a muse.

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