We Meet Again

“Haven’t heard from you in a while,” she said.
“I’ve been really busy”
Her eyes caught the lie, if not her ears.
“Too busy to pick up a pen?”
I stammered some unresponsive excuse, which even I couldn’t understand.
“Too busy to peck out a few words on that infernal machine?”
“I use that to work…”
Her hurt was plain
“I thought I was your work”
“No, my love. Never work.
You are my passion, my hearts blood, my future.”
Bullseye. Dead on!
The target so often haunted me
In dreams and wakeful moments of perception
She had grown suspicious.
Jealous…Yet no less beautiful.
With just a few words I made her more substantial.
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I made her more real.
“You’ve made me seem a rainbow, you know?”
“I know.”
“But rainbows only come after storms, it seems.”
I shrugged.
She approached me,
Brushed my lips with a butterfly kiss, and was gone.
She’s always been funny that way; Infinitely appealing and ageless.
I’ve grown to accept her for what she is;
For what it is her nature to be.
No compromise,
No Sympathy,
No changing her
A muse must always be
Fickle.
~Adam Stuart Littman 1999~