It Could get Noisy...

She's back...my muse.  I made a place for her in the bed beside me and together we peered at the bluish cast emanating from the screen of my laptop.  She moved in close; her exotic scent, intoxicating and delicious, began to work its power within me.  Moving soft, dewy lips nearer my ear, she had only to breathe one word and she owned me once again.  "Baby...."

Parts of me always respond to her, both physically and intellectually.  She likes that about me, and I'm sure that's why she's back.  I don't know where she's been, but I suspect she didn't care for my choice of lovers with this last one.  Perhaps she was lurking, torturing me with the desire to write, yet pulling back before I could grab on and drag her close.

She returned shortly after the bulging shoebox of mementos, the last remnants of my journey alongside him, was snatched up in a quiet, tear-stained rage and evicted, along with his hold over me, to the basement storage unit.  I can still feel it there, but my muse has shifted between it and I, blocking all its power and claiming me for her own again.  How I've missed her.  My Penelope.  I've only managed to choke out my column and a few dispassionate articles every month in her absence.

Now the fun begins...