Let my Muse not think that my inspiration has faded...let her not think that she no longer gives me music, art, vision, hope, happiness...words. Let my Muse not feel that the passage of time has dulled the poetry in my spirit. For it is only in her eyes that I can read truths...it is only in her eyes that I find poetry. And what person could ever actually pen the poetry of the eyes? The song that spills naked into heart? The raw etchings of passion, desire, need, love...

Let my Muse not think that she no longer creates in me, brings to me, all that is perfect. Let my Muse not think that I have faded from the whole of passion and love for her. For, I know that some things are far too ethereal for the mortal mind to express...for the human hand to translate from heart and eyes to words. Let my Muse not think that she leaves me dry. For she is the wine that wets my parched throat, the music that brings a tear to the eye...She is the poem that I write over and over every time I look into her eyes.

Let my Muse know now beyond all things that she is my fire...my heart. And together we possess ourselves and each other in the greatest gift we can offer, the sanctity of honest love.