honesty, I had to look online for the meaning of the term

Bogdan Dragos

Jan 5

ʕっ• ᴥ • ʔっ Find me on INSTAGRAM 
(っ╹◡╹)っ Find me on TIKTOK 
(つ✧ω✧)つ Check out my BOOKS

She pushed gently against me 
and fell on the 
bed 
Stretched a leg towards me 
began unbuttoning at her 
jeans 
 
I helped her take them 
off 
Not too gentle, not too rough 
 
Grinning, she turned around 
in bed and said, "I just 
remembered, you never told me 
what your muse looks like." 
 
"Huh?" 
 
"And please don't tell me 
it looks like me. We both know 
that's bullshit sweet talk poets use 
to get girls. Don't 
lie to me, boy. What does your 
muse look like? You 
can tell me." 
 
I reached for her foot 
moved it out of the way 
not too gently, not too rough 
Reached for the panties 
 
She pushed my hand away 
not too gently, not too rough 
"Tell me. Is it, by any chance, a little 
girl locked inside a basement like 
it was for my ex-boyfriend? Do you 
whip her when she's naughty 
and doesn't give you inspiration? Do 
you deny her food and the 
bathroom?" 
 
"What?" 
 
"Tell me, poet! Do you? Do you 
lie on your back when you masturbate 
and imagine the muse 
squat above your face 
and shower you with her piss 
as blessing?" 
 
I took a step back. "What?" 
 
"Oh fuck," she said. "Just tell 
me already what your muse 
looks like and how d'you get 
intimate with her. Tell me!" 
 
"I, I don't know. I don't work 
like that." 
 
She stopped touching herself 
Watched me expecting 
to add more 
 
I gave a shrug. 
 
Honestly, the last time I thought of 
a muse it was 
some broke, homeless young guy, 
scrawny as a putrid 
plank and roaming the streets 
 
He had nothing in this 
world 
but hunger 
A hunger that possessed him 
and made him write like a madman 
 
That guy was my muse 
 
But I figured 
she wouldn't care to hear about that 
 
Anyway, we didn't go out for long 
after that evening 
 
She said we're not compatible 
because I'm too vanilla