She flies by at a hundred miles an hour, and I just hope I can catch a glimpse. Enough to know her face, to recognize her form. To reproduce it, after a fashion. To mold her eyes, her mouth, her arms, her breasts, her legs. I want her to walk on her own, with me watching proudly and silently from behind.
She inspires me, but I give her life. That is the nature of a Muse.
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