Listening to the Muse

My name is burnt and lives in flame
His heart is wild
Some say not sane
I embrace the night and its deep call
Wolves of whim are howling
And I’m listening to the muse
He seems quite content on being used
But I was never one to use
And so I send him my love
In secret kisses of desert wind
And secret caresses of the body within
My mind,
I will not resign
To not knowing his passions
And his most intimate hours
As he speaks to me like Eros on a fruitful night
And like Loki
When he doesn’t feel like being right,
And sometimes he holds me oh so close
And whispers sweet dangerous thoughts
Of fiery desires that would envelope me
If it were not for his keen insight
I would have burned alive
For even the Muse must draw away
When those who are mused
Must in reality, stay.

Nice...