will not drunk blog.

no, no, no she will not.

she will lay her head in feathers

let the night pass through the

dignity of quiet.

Smell the latkes in her skin

gentle reminder to let things be

just as they are

to trust always

the spaciousness of dark

seducing the muse

First. I make no promises.

My Muse, she's the bees knees when she comes around, but let me tell you, her work ethic leaves a little to be desired these days.

(Just kidding, Sweetie. You know I love you. I respect you. I do not understand your mysterioso ways, but I trust you implicitly, honey cakes. See me bowing down? Smell the tea on the table, those candles burning on the mantle? For you. All for you, baby.)

Fuck. I've already lied to The Muse. There's no tea in my cup, it's coffee. And there are no candles burning. Nice start.

She knows anyway. First one to call bullshit on me every time. I got my fingers on the keys, though. That's got to count for something.