to be loved by an artist

(quiet love)

I look to my love as the most sacred teacher,
and I remember well the sayings of my youth.
How my oceans of desire tried to reach her,
yet hidden, with no tempest waves as proof.

What I missed most was never the intensities,
for they never suited the calmness of my water.
The moments after our perfections or iniquities
were how I payed tribute to my alma mater.

For when the storms subsided my part was played,

and I was free to quietly observe your ways.

The artistry of your body in sun light, shadow fade,

held my fascinations, loves, and lusts in one gaze. 

Id aspire to nobility, to reinvent, to love, to create,

just to be worthy of your affectionate attentions.

And perhaps that's what made us something great,

Because loving you elevated all my mortal intentions.