by Jessica Louise Hoffart
He walks into the room
time stands chaotic
blood rushes to places
I didn’t know it could
Fuck
Inspiration
I call him
he smiles
a book is written
blinks
a poem appears
He sees through me
the words written
on my heart
pulls them through
fingers to paper
Too much sometimes
I run from the burn
he leaves
within me
Not a muse
for he is
the words
the paper
the Pen
Sex
I put down to live
Too much inspiration
I may be left
mind barren
thirsting
for new words
