You inspire me to poetry
to poetessery.
To remembering my essence, remembering the real expression
of the world through me.
Just in your words,
the way they effuse so authentically
from the earth under your perfect, handsome feet;
the way they greet me
is astonishing, always —
and the way that you move through the world
the way that you talk to the baristas
the way you make friends with the leather-worker at the bar
or the yellow-rain coated bike man
or my dear blood brothers
or a stranger in the terminal;
the way that you came here on a heart-whim
the artistry of your breakfast plates
all this and more
is poetry —
and I am your favourite fangirl
I am your broken, abandoned woman
I am your fucking queen Maeve
Strong, brave and true —
your muse —
who gives the king all the power
just by inviting him to lay with her in love
as we do.
