I’ve lost my muse.
I crept away as she slumbered.
And, when I came with blooms for my June,
only her sensuous citrus scent remained.
If you see her auburn tresses
or sense wafts of orange zest
in your daily journey,
please share with her I long for her
and can only create verbose vacuums
expressing my heart’s new vacancy.
If she declares her freedom from my adoration
and wishes no return,
smile silently at her and repeat her disdain message
gently to me and teach me how to write
another blue ballad.
Empty, I await her or you, my dreaded love messenger.