I put a fading moon behind me
driving thru beautiful Oklahoma countryside
in darkness
until a gentle Tulsa sunrise.

I almost killed a rabbit,
but just missed.

The laughter and soft/
talk behind closed doors could have/
been me but wasn’t.

Am I Ok? I’m/
in OK, alone, with just/
a phone. Bored, ok?

I send heart-felt words/
late at night. Is that absurd,/
or will lightening strike?

I awake thru/
sleep with the right muse./
You are she,/
the gypsy/
I awaken with and to.

I’ll see the gypsy/
woman lounging there and I’ll /
care for naught but sleep.

It’s true that I find/
poetry in everything./
That’s why i like you.

She stiletto heels
how I feel
about her.

The words
I send and call,
she doesn’t respond to at all.

Her excuse
is that she’s a loose
emotional roller coaster.
That’s the most her
mind and heart
can come up with?
Well, it’s a start,
if not exactly a gift.

Still, she shouldn’t be confused
and try to assign me a new muse,
or two or three,
especially
when my main muse is primarily
she.

Update after her 2nd response
Of course,
if she neglects
to tell me she’s in a wreck,
or even very sick,
I have no way of knowing.
Although my concern for her is growing,
her silence
makes me wince,
frown,
and shut down.

Now, I don’t know what to say
or how to even ask if she’s okay.

We gazed at the moon/
together. I’ll miss that when
the super moon shows.

Experiencing/
aviarys doesn’t let/
one write chicken sh*t.