when your muse has left the building

maybe for warmer climes

 and you are left struggling at your desk,

 bereft of ideas, of words and lines

wondering where your cleverness has gone

wondering where your wit has wandered

wondering why your creativity has cratered

and in your frustration, you realize

maybe it's a good thing your muse has taken temporary leave

because at least she's not pecking away at you

like an itch you can't scratch

wearing down your confidence

making you question everything about your craft

and maybe you'll text her to stay away longer

and have a pina colada or two at your expense

during Happy Hour

and only return when she is good and ready

to lift your spirits with sparks and resolve

so your writing will be renewed and you will be rejuvenated

and charged with new conviction

filling pages with verses that skitter across the page

for she knows you too well

and writing poetry for you

is not just a whim; it's real and it matters,

and is your heart worn upon on your sleeve