Muddled Muse Comments

The Muse that tortuous inflictor of words that spin round in the mine so that up is down and down is well you get my drift. What poet has not felt this and you express it so well in this poem 10 +++

You make me want to play in the sun Wander in the woods Sleep late on Sunday Fill my kitchen with spiced air And stretch out sleepily In your arms The only thing I do not know Is if you know this At all..... loved these lines. Beautiful poem on affection and muse with haunting expression. Thanks for sharing.