Inkwell

I hide you in my poetry, search you in my words,

Crafting verses like whispers, where your essence stirs.

In the glow of twilight, my heart starts to race,

But love with a poet can be a treacherous place.

I weave you in stanzas, with ink that flows deep,

Yet the pen and diary in the drawer know I’m not asleep.

They witness my secrets, the truths I disguise,

For every sweet sonnet, there's a shadow that lies.

With every soft whisper, I draw you in close,

But the echoes of longing can haunt me the most.

I love you fiercely, yet the muses I chase

Leave a trail of confusion, a bittersweet space.

I write you a ballad, a tale laced with dreams,

But the ink spills my sorrows, unraveling seams.

In the dance of my lines, you’re both near and afar,

And the truth of my heart is a flickering star.

So tread with caution, dear heart, I implore,

For falling in love with a poet’s a war.

I’ll capture your essence, yet leave you exposed,

In this web of my words, where my longing is posed.