If I could draw
I’d pick out the best pencils
And sketch out your very structure
Muscles and veins
Your pose and poise.
If I could paint,
I’d picture your silhouette
And paint you in shades of black and white
Folded sleeves, striking stance
A monochromatic perfection.
If I were a photographer,
I’d take thousands of your pictures
As your expressions blend into nature
And sun rays highlight your features
Your soft spots and rough edges
I’d capture them all.
But I’m just a writer
So instead I’d write
About how the sight of you
Is enough inspiration for me
And your smile plucks out sweet words
Like fruits from the tree of my heart,
And how I steal glances at you
My perfect work of art.
I’ve now accepted my fate
That Irrespective of my work state
You’d have the same effect
My form of art doesn’t matter
You’re simply my Muse
My secret Muse
And I’m doomed to loving every bit of you