A Misused Muse

If I swallowed my pride,
the pride I have subsisted on for the better part of this unfortunate life,
would you let me stand beside you and ask you this,

would you, oh would you,
would you be my muse?

There is a common misconception that muses are literary fodder,
indicative only of pain and the errors of a misguided youth,
and then a misguided middle life,

but these were perennial misunderstandings,
misnomers,

and we were misled by others,
lovers and concubines with devastating designs,

but now,
since I stepped down from stepping stool,
quickly and without the tendency for my peripheral vision,
while reacquainting myself with the sensation of incessant laughter

I could write you the way I had always wanted to,
and only now could this pen do you justice,
now that I know you,
and only you

There was something sad about being ignorant of your existence all these scores and scores of evenings,
and there was something magnificent about our collision,

and now about this collision course