Set Me Off
I didn't call you when the page was blank, and the musicians went home. The watered down beer, and smoke so thick my eyes burned. I didn't call you when the moon fell from the sky, when it's hook stabbed every fish in the bellies of everyone walking home this evening. I only called you when I was hungry. When I wanted to eat some company. To drink you in like some waxy candle melt. Feel your burn. That's the glory of you as a muse. You ignite me like fire to this page of poetry. I then cool in your arms all night under the opened window giving us both not so subtle hints, that winter is coming.