fluttering down
upon your forehead-
like a promiscuous butterfly
seeking soul nectar.
or,
flowing freely from the heart
after rhapsodic wrestlings
with your perfect Muse,
soaring to the depths of wildest abandon.
or,
sore from the kicks,
and heaving from exhaustion,
Inspiration belches
forth from a weeping gut-
ready to spin beauty from the void within.
Guts
theDeprevation 