The Muse

She looked at the empty page
He looked at  his muse.

She brain stormed scattered ideas

He collected them 

stealing her words away.

She makes love to the whiskey in her hand

while he makes love through the words of another.

She breaks, crumbles , disfigures 

say what you must.

He rises and molds

into the vowels of her mouth.

She stands at the ledge,

giving away the few words she had.

He greedily catches them all from hitting the floor

devouring her soul , her essence

for his art.

But you can still feel her 

in the lines of his poems(her words.)