mousaiA Poem by m.s.earlyI thought of this while imagining her reciting her poetry to meWhen she reads to me in moonlight dreaming harmonies there is an effervescence of crackling seascapes, her vocals are never bridged, well in pools by the foot of our bed as spectrums calm in spirals of cool, viscid oils, and her breath of perfume abiding in alabaster allows me the sweet release of thought only hearing the coherence of her lips, refrains in the Mousai's artistic spheres. My eyes saccade her form as she reads to me her poetry, claiming her, donning my thoughts, my illustrious desires, attempting to ship what is left of my unclaimed love within the banks of her well writ poesies, her verses hung ornamentally speak to me in formal imitations of ancient poets invoking the muses Erato and Euterpe. Her demure while she reads in esoteric tongues allows my infatuated ears, pillowed comfortably by her charming singsong, to regress as water from ice, freed to steam again, liberated to fly by each stanza, freed of Augean interpretation, satisfied by graceful suspire, her lyrics so blessed by the Mousai.
© 2014 m.s.earlyAuthor's Note
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Added on March 8, 2014Last Updated on March 10, 2014 Authorm.s.earlyVAAbout"A poet's work is to name the unnameable, to point at frauds, to take sides, start arguments, shape the world, and stop it going to sleep." -Salman Rushdie more..Writing
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