Like
Seconds to sand,
Eggs to hens,
Music to moods,
Fingers to pens …

… You inspire me.

And it's a strange kinda feeling,
This “inspiration.”
Like quenching cosmic thirsts
With silent desperation.
Holding onto air
And feeling every nerve.
Throwing tantrums
to fight the determined urge
To serve you my soul on golden
Platters.

I slice innocence to
Defeat the embarrassing hues of shame
That tickle my cheeks
When I hear your name.
Folding obvious fancies
Into note-sized insignificance,
While secretly awaiting
even the tiniest glance
Into your true being.

You twist my intentions
In ways yet to be fathomed.
While burning stability into my
Fatal imbalance.
Churning acceptance
and converting pain
To idle illustrations
and dedicated stains
On this empty canvas
I like to call life.

Can't you see?