I do not know quite how I sacked my muse.
Perhaps it’s me that is now unemployed.
A while pale angry, now blushred annoyed.
I don’t think this the ending I would choose
Terse emails. Sudden silence on the phone.
Skin touched in memory but not again.
Bright sun outside. I feel it should be rain.
A strangle vine of lust that months had grown
Needed to be plucked out. It’s for the best
though dirt and mud is scattered on the rug.
You go cold turkey when you quit a drug.
I’ll go to bed at night and get some rest
Not toss, nor turn. Hands crossed; and in my head
No fever. I am calm. Sad as the dead.