If I stole your art, could you blame me?

The melodic curves
or rhythmic edges,
organic pastels,
or heart-throbbing neon,

awake as the eyes that envisioned them.

My muses all run to you with eager,
little fingers,
pinching and plucking at your sketches,

protruding tongues, and rolling sneaky, spiteful eyes in my direction,
******* on your creations with humming bird vigilance.