For Sarah, on St. Valentine's Day

Only now do I begin
To understand the concept
Of a true muse. She makes you

Wander, most often places

You had not yet wished to go.
She makes you question, yourself,
Why you had not questioned you.

She makes you work to create
What you had not intended,
Love what you had not known, go

Down into the depths of loss,

Old, nostalgic grief. Lose it.
She should not always be soft,
Who's always true. She loves you.