Canoodling With The Muse, Calliope Poem by jackilton peachum

A warm Spring night:
3 a.m. she nudges me, calling for attention--
I roll away feigning sleep--
she curls up behind me in the bed,
spooning, pressing her form right up against me,
warm and curvy against my butt!
Finally, she breathes in my ear
-- little shivers along my spine --
I have nightwarm of her in my head!
And she begins to whisper-- the most fantastic things--
Similes, metaphors, conceits, dangling participles,
split infinitives, oxymoron, foreign phrases--
French! Oh, God, French! Ahhhhhhhhh--
images tickle my fancy-- verbs race along my epiglottis!
My heart pounds, my blood boils-.
panting, I roll over to her ready for action
- and she turns the other way--
goes back to sleep! .