my pen ran dry.
No words fell for me.
I looked  and looked
for a new muse.
I finally searched
through the bottom of a bottle.
I know I Did not go out to get lucky
or find oblivion.
just a place to fill my dry pen.
I found a barmaid.
she was lovely.
she filled my glass
Again and again.
All breast and doe eyes.
She had me talk
a few of my poem's.
she said I used the word
love too much.
without saying what it means.
She broke my block.
The poems poured
From me like water.
When we lay together
she broke my tears
with her acceptance.
She told me that
I did not love her
I just needed her.
When she met my mother
Mom told me she liked the way
she looked at me.
I smiled and said I liked it too.
This life was not the world
for her beauty.
She left it with
wounds from herself.
Now my poem's
flow like tap water
but it's all salty and red.