You.

Hazel eyes.

Midnight hair tumbling over your face, covering perfection with ebony grace.

I am yours to hold, to mold, by the fingertips.

Grasp me tenderly, don't let me go.

For without your star to guide the night, what am I but an aimless wanderer lost in the city lights?

My muse.

Inspiration bursts forth from your thoughtless actions, little things, insignificant, my world is full of poetry.