I am an artist, I am in love with love.
These rapturous prisons I can't dispose of
Have captured my heart, my mind, my pen,
For years upon years, but what happens when
I finally find one who feels that for me?
When metaphor comes real and all I see
Is the glint in the eyes of one who matters most?
Will she calm my thoughts, as the ghost
Of all my muses are laid to rest at last?
Or will she push me further, further past
The rhetoric of beauty and joy I've written of oft
as she continuously raises my heart aloft?

I'd like to know
But I never can
Who could capture my heart?
I'm an artist.
I'm in love with love.