Chalet

I'll put myself up in a chalet, in a foreign land, where my tongue will be a foreign tongue. 

I'll lock myself up with a great vintage and produce a great novel. 

I'll be kept by my desire and she will be my muse. 

I won't see the sun nor the moon, only the light from her eyes and the fire from her loins. 

I'll fill my novel with words that will render every bite into legible desire. 

I'll close my eyes and trace her body with my writing hand so I can write her curves into my pages. 

I'll love her and the pages will show.