She sidled in, cool eyes caressing me, mystery floating around her like a cloud of perfume. Sitting, the muse crossed her legs, an orchestra of graceful and deliberate, unhurried motion. No wasted notes, nothing extraneous. “You ready to do this?”
I nod, bewitched by her voice.
Black diamond eyes sparkling, her pale smile shifts with quicksilver fluidity. “Then begin.”
The muse can be so seductive. After nodding again, I started writing like crazy one more time.
Michael Seidel, writer 
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