My Muse, My Mistress: Under Her Spell

She glides across the room in a crimson dress, my breath catches in my throat, her very presence creates an unfurling of desire. I cannot resist her siren call, just a glance brings me to my knees begging for her inspiration.  I want to fall into the depths of her soul, my longing for release overwhelming.

Our eyes meet as her dark beauty overtakes my vision, weakening my resolve. She leans close to whisper a promise of feverish prose we will create together. 

She slides a finger down my arm, bringing goose bumps to my skin and a flutter to my heart. Her bewitching gaze leaves no room for defiance. I pursue her as she exits the room, reeling with infatuation.  

She welcomes me into her embrace, sparks of passion heat up the pages as we create the next verse. Her presence enthralls me, her ravishing beauty leading me to extravagant heights and extended sonnets.  


With a sharp intake of breath, I am under her spell. My Muse releases my virtuosity, my unbridled prose, leaving my creativity lying on the page, spent.