The Rose in the Ocean

It’s like I can smell the scent of you through my words, hear the chatter of your voice between the keys I tap, see the curves, touch the hills, sink into the gullies and the turns of your body, yet you remain a figment of my imagination. I can taste your salt, feel the warmth against your breasts, continue to be encouraged to explore more than your sex. You have wit, warmth, and laughter clear as the first morning light.

You won’t appear, of course, you won’t be heard, you are gone and only in my imagination do you exist; wild, sexy, intelligent and adventurous after motherhood. Not for my satisfaction the lithe body, or the wealth of an heiress, no. You’ve fed, wiped, tended, washed, ironed, shopped till you dropped and still didn’t get everything you needed. You dream of a knight, never considering you’re the princess he would slay the dragon for. You, my muse with the romantic, never considering you’re the end to one man’s search for reality.

God knows I created you, made love to you, lost you a thousand times in a thousand paragraphs. Set you sailing, gave you a dying breath, and then lost you among the obscurity of adjectives.

What shall I call you….ah, but who doesn’t love their muse?