Theresa's Muse

Theresa's Muse

Echoes beckon her to the purple
cavern in the hills where the
red rose of ecstasy opens its
petals to the White Moon. There

she summons with frail gesture the
rendering of flesh over parting flesh
as her mind fabricates with intensity
the color of united breathing. Her

muse is black sand. Her pen
and paper a breeze that follows
playfully the dew of her lips
against the drops of her words.

She remembers how they poured into
each other's arms, their love a
brilliance advanced upon despair. I fear
her sweet dream becoming my nightmare.