Return of the Muse

It's like a strange comic book movie
the Return of the Muse
Hands idle
For what seems like years
And suddenly flying across the keyboard
Across the paper
Pencils, forgotten in the drawer
Now blunt with weathering

How strange - to look up
To remember how
To stare into amber glasses of
Irish beer and see floating
The words you used to write
Floating now
And suddenly easily grabbed

He showed you music and flowers and Patton leather
And movies about warships and suicidal soldiers
And when he walked you down
He gave your hand to that
Volatile whip
Like staring endlessly at tyrannical Shakespeare
Like smashing bottles
Like sweat
And piercing kisses
That cut you to the middle
Like Juliet stabbing that knife into the only proper sheath

That...

There is nothing like that
To press your fingers back into their proper position,
Hovering madly over brightly lit keyboards
Trembling with crumbling graphite

Oh!
It is the way of it
The tense pressure in your chest
The way you remember his eyes
How he looks at her how he looked at you
There is nothing like it
The flash of his coat in silhouette on the backstage wall
His tender hand in yours as he teaches you the tango
The lift above his head when you weren't sure he was a dancer
Like Baby in the Corner
Like romance
Like rain over leather covers
Like holding a door open for a twelve year old girl
Like the poetry you've been keeping in because you didn't know

You didn't know

They hold the pen.