Muse

Cheeks dusted in graphite,
You look up at at me from
Under thick covergirl lashes.

You want to be inside me:
Curl my ribs in like the bottom
Of a barbed wire fence and crawl in. 

Would you poke my heart
To see if it bled honest ink?

Or rest your head against it,
To fall asleep to the beat?

White parchment stained red
When you crawl out from your nap
With a giggle and a grin.

Gore has a specific euphoria to it.
I can see it in your eyes,
And I can feel it in my bent bones.

***

Ben Stoll is a Vermont based poet who will be receiving his Bachelors in Secondary Education, with a minor in Creative Writing. His work has been featured in other publications such as The Allegheny Review, and The Sandy River Review. When writing, he finds inspiration in the people in his life, as well as nature.