my unkissed muses

in the chalice of the blue sky
where the eagles drink my dreams
every thing about you is nothing like it seems

but that is geometry
and i have no shape

in the skillet where you loved me
and your moue melted from mountain snow
the sizzle of your softness sauteed me when I'd go

but that is theology
and we both know I'm not God

in the cistern of the screaching monkeys
where chaos is all that's true
the love i thought was real, i guess we never knew

but that is history
and we have none of that.