A Crime Against Inspiration

Sunken muse, what can I do to appease you?
You were once livid and thirsty,
My nectar you drank with fervor.
I can feel you stick to me like
Sweet honey, seeping through the cracks.
My white-knuckled grip is gone,
And now I watch you flutter by,
Your silken wings gracing my oceans of discontent.
You leave ripples and water marks
And fade quickly.

I rest, desperately trying to find you through these beating wings.
You've left a glimmer, faint and ancient
On my life and I feel lesser.

Sunken muse, what can I do to appease you?
Should I clear my mind and think less?
Your influence is toxic and breathes like spirits.

My eyes water.

I can't drink you in -- not like this.
My intoxication is drowning among heavy, wet cinders. No fire.
My lungs fill with water and I grasp for
life. For you, my sunken muse.
I grasp for you, I try to feel your sweet, sweet honey again,
To tease across my lips.
Instead, I feel them darken,
Blue, lonely hues. I cry out for you.

I watch my final breaths cloud the water around me.
A million tiny bubbles dance past my cheeks,
The rose draining from my ivory.
I'm waiting for you to pull me free,
Breathe your sweet life into me,
Cradle me in your honeysuckle arms like a child.

You're a hummingbird,
Your wings echo my heartbeat,
Feverish and desperate and hungry. Ravenous.
You fly so fast against the endless glass
And my even my deft fingers can't keep up.

But why should you cage what you've always wanted?

A muse, a terrified heartbeat, echoing sounds
Off the cages of men who cry in the night.
A fated, cryptic creature,
A lonely, panicked bird.
Sunken muse, what can I do to appease you?