Ivanhoe Manor,
Milwaukee WI
(My Home)
My flat was the Parlor of a bloodless blue Mansion
dating back to the late 1800s.
The light would flood
waves of poetry onto my skin,
across, beneath & between
my most delicate parts.
At Golden Hour
my shadows would whisper each verse to me,
the way Cohen would whisper to Marianne.
I wonder if I have ever been a Muse?
To a stranger?
To a loved one?
The way
I felt Muse
to the Star in my Parlor
