My muse dances for me,
Weaving patterns of
Promises to inflame
My desires and
Fantasies firelght flickering
Moving over her body,
Showing then hiding,
Secrets and truths,
And her secret smile,
For she, my muse,
Knows she touches
My innermost and
Most sinful soul,
Which must recount
My shameful cravings,
Done or dreamed,
As poetry.
Donovan Baldwin
