Lovely one, my lovely one
your voice, your skin, your nails,
lovely one, my lovely one,
your being, your light, your shadow,
lovely one,
all that is mine, lovely one,
all that is mine, my dear,
when you walk or rest,
when you sing or sleep,
when you suffer or dream,
when you are near or far,
you are mine, my lovely one,

I've always wanted to be someone's muse.  It's such a wonderfully romantic idea.  To inspire art! poetry! prose! song!  I suppose it's an outdated idea now, isn't it?  Whenever I read Pablo Neruda's poetry I pretend I've inspired the words.  It's nice to feel so desirable that someone's very core is shaken and their creative spirit stirred all because of you.

No one writes poetry anymore.

if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.

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