The paper is empty.

The pen lays alone.

The words non-delivered.

No anything shown.

For how can I write

now she’s walked away?

My words have dried up.

I have nothing to say.

I needed her grace,

her body, her mind,

to show me the meaning

of all that I find.

She once said she loved me.

She coloured my soul.

My teacher, my mistress,

my journey, my goal.

We’d write love for hours.

We’d giggle, we’d kiss.

We’d feel sorry for all those

that had never had this.

We’d fuck fast and hard

and then gentle and slow.

I’d spend hours just licking

her juices below.

But now that she’s gone

I have nothing to say.

No birds will sing,

no colour, just grey.

The poetry gone.

The songs out of tune.

No night and no day.

No sun and no moon.

How can I live

with such cruel abuse?

Now that i’ve lost,

my lover, my muse.