Poem "Muse"

You smell like a cup of coffee
and feel like one, too -
smooth, slightly bitter,
on the nervous end of awake.

It's this i miss - the nervous twitter,
which only a good meal
and plenty of drugs can fix.
You're alive now, and so possible -
not hiding beneath your blanket of stars
and rocky dreams.

In the morning i'll find you
curled up like a crow,
with your beak on the pillow
and your claws around my legs.

My strangely comforting muse -
whose absence is a like dagger -
or a well-meant birdshot
to the crookedness
of my heart.