The Tenth Muse

Erato and Calliope
have no allure for me.
I can't write epic poetry,
nor Romance.
Tragedy,
though closer, isn't quite the thing,
and so Melpomene
can keep on screwing writers who
her palsied virtues sing.
No self-respecting writer would
waste any precious time
with muses who require them
to write their verse in rhyme.

I dally with Urania,
flirt with Terpsichore,
and I would Marry Thalia
if she would marry me
(not for the sex, but for the laughs.
she's decent company).
I'm just friends with Euterpe,
and Polyhymnia
can find another lover.
Me,
I think she's just a bitch.

I short I wouldn't stoop to swyve
with any of these nine.
I need to find another muse,
a virile incubus
of literary merit, whose
specialty is longing,
not heroes or romance.

And so, I shall promote
young Ganymede to muse.
I'll let
him kiss me on the throat
and lay reclining on my breast.
I'll stroke his slender flanks--
but I had better stop at that.
If I write any more,
I'll owe Erato something which
she's seldom had before.