I don’t know muses when I see them first –
peck cheeks in passing maybe, sometimes smile
at dazzling eyes, lush hair or witty bile
against shared enemies. There is a thirst
for more of them that grows, sometimes takes years.
I do not know them yet, yet elegance
of thought attaches to them when by chance
I think of them again. Their face appears
in dreams and I awake with half a line
that grows and changes. Words fresh on my lips
I did not put there. These relationships
bring genius to me that is not mine
Nor theirs. Lust that alchemically sublimes
to love perhaps, or friendship – always rhymes.