Letter to my muse

Dear Muse,

I found you long time ago in a pub. You served me my cold beer and as you closed we smoked a cigarette.

I can't remember a lot but I still taste bitter beer on the tip of my tounge and feel your fingers in my hair. 

I remember your black hair and wide hips. Your soft curves and small waist. 

Red lips matching the colour on your toes, nails and of your lace.

But even if you were the most beautiful person I've ever kissed in my life - that's not the reason I think about you while I'm writing. 

It's the energy I felt at this very moment. The passion as you moaned with pleasure. 

Your green eyes turned all black in the moment of pure ecstasy.

It was pure and real- something I miss a lot lately.

I don't know your name or what your life's like and I'm not sorry to say "I don't care" because that is the truth.

I didn't love you- I loved how you made me feel- a feeling I want to give the people who are reading my stuff. 

Pure, honest, real.

You left ten seconds after we finished. 

You didn't kiss me goodbye and most of us won't get the chance to. 

I want my writings to be pure, honest, real and therefore sometimes as brutal as you were but always as beautiful as you are. 

Sincerely someone you can't remember