A muse named Angie

A muse named Angie

  [ edit ]

The poetry stopped for me
my pen ran dry.
I looked  and looked for a new muse.
Through the bottom of a bottle
I know I Did not go out to get lucky
or find oblivion.
just a place to fill my dry pen
she was lovely
she filled my glass again and again
all breast and doe eyes.
She had me talk a few of my poem's
she said I used the word love too much.
without saying what it means.
She broke my block
when we lay together
she broke my tears
with her acceptance.
She told me that I don't love her
I just needed her.
When she met my mother
mom told me she liked the way
she looked at me.
I smiled and said I liked it too.
Life was not the world for her beauty'
she left it with wounds from herself.
Now they words flow like tap water
but it's all salty and red