She is a muse to me
I feed off of her trembling stories
I am the continuation to her hesitation
And the ellipses to her speech
The curtain call to her name
When she is out of reach
She is a muse to me
Night and day she whispers to me
Singing sweet lullabies in stanzas
And the disclaimer portrays not her but me
Yet I am not the notes on these sheets but she
Her chorus rings in the air softly
And lingers over my pen
She is a muse to me
The physique something I can't see
The soul something I can't reach
Yet the mind interludes with thoughts to me
And only I can read
She is me...but I'm not her...
Her existence and memories lie within me
Yet the spirit remains a mystery
She is a muse to me
I feed off of her trembling stories
I am the continuation to her hesitation
And the ellipses to her speech
The curtain call to her name
Since she is out of reach
