And She Was His Muse

“Hello again, my old friend,” said he.Bathed in candlelight, twin wine glasses by his side,Charcoal pencil strewn along with rough sheets,Gentle music playing softly, giving her a delicious high.
“Tell me where must I pose for you,” asked she.“Keep your lips pursed, my muse,” replied he,“For tonight it’s inappropriate for you to speak,”With a smirk he added, “Do remain high and haughty.”
She could not reciprocate his manner,For as he picked his pencils to draw every arch that made her,She remembered only that goodbye was drawing nearer,
His brow furrowed, a little was he aroused though,He focused on each contour, even when her eyes signaled sorrow,And yet, for a kiss from her he longed.
So did she long, for his touch, but could not say,She would wordlessly stand till dawn’s first ray,Both wanted much more, but only artist and muse they’ll remain.
This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda. Copyright Petrichor and Clouds 2013 at petrichorandclouds.blogspot.com Please do not reproduce the material published here.