kindakay:

My love,
Well heated as his accommodation.
I rewire his energy
When he dangerously sparks with inspiration.

He is the lonely artist,
Fulfilling the empty gallery of my heart.
Infusing color into my pulse,
Establishing only the most stunning art.

My blood,
A nourishment to his deprivation.
Yearning for consent,
I am his feast of dedication.

He is the empty serpent
Scanning my essence, composed yet high strung.
Boiling through my veins
His venom so vivid, I can taste it on my tongue.

My thoughts
Are rays glimmering through his leaves.
As crucial as sunlight,
I am every idea he perceives.

He is the inquisitive tree
Whose roots worm throughout the soil of my brain.
My mind flowers open,
As I disregard the destruction and the pain.