Creative fun in
the palm of your hand.
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Rated: E · Poetry · Other · #1748604
This story is about my shadowy muse from which I draw my inspiration.
My Muse

Although we share a silhouette,
just say it isn’t so.
My shadow is the negative
of everywhere I go.

She wears a long and strappy dress,
a shade of envy green,
bedecked with lace, roses and bows,
while I am in blue jeans.

My hair is straight, and short, and flat,
a very boring brown.
Her fire red curls, they flounce and bounce
until they reach the ground.

She paints her lips a Crimson red,
she doesn’t own a Mauve.
She’s flirty, fun, flamboyant,
while mousy me’s not suave.

She does not speak in Hillbilly.
French is her native tongue.
Not Pat is she, but Portia.
She grows not old, but young.

My ink pen is a Paper Mate.
My notebook is black leather.
Pens she poems on perfumed parchment
with a Peregrine’s pinfeather.

My notebook’s full of clippings,
quotes, and notes, and news.
Her diary has pressed flowers
and tickets from a cruise.

My watch is quite utilitarian.
It always tells the time.
Her watch is jewel encrusted.
With music does it chime.

She plays the ukulele,
while all I play are cards.
She vacations in Hawaii,
and I in my backyard.

My sheets are clean white cotton.
Her bed’s a daisy meadow.
Fistfuls of flowers I fling at fate.
Can’t e’re I be the shadow?

© Copyright 2011 chickpea a.k.a. Patricia Syner (chickpea at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1748604-My-Muse