Waiting-A Velvet Goldmine Poem

Waiting

Arthur’s bent over his
computer keyboard
like the hunchback
of the Herald.
Long fingers waltz across
the minute letters
as his words begin
their evolution into
an article.

Curt dropped into
the office to take
Arthur to dinner, only
to find him grappling
with the fierce monster:
writer’s block.
Arthur’d given him a smile
weak as watered-down
tea and Curt could see
frustration dancing with
defeat in his eyes.

Curt shrugged, promising
to wait for him,
caressed his bangs away
from his eyes and took
a seat on a corner of
his desk. Arthur began
typing, the sound a
monotonous tone of ants
marching down the sidewalk.

By the time Curt started
nodding off to the murmur
of hunger in his stomach,
his lover giggled in coffee-induced
delight as he printed out
his work.
“My muse,” he called him.