I love you as I do my work,
with the same perplexed vexation.
You disappoint yet I embrace you both
With the lovelorn's foolish passion.
You both reflect only what I have given
And I have not enough to give.
You can not sate me, nothing can,
I want the world in payment for my scribbles
and inexhaustible bliss from you.
When I am with you, or with my work,
my mind is alive, my spirit aglow
And I know something better than happiness,
Something I know only I can know.
When away from you, or from my desk,
The world intrudes, reality suggests
I waste my time,
Neither you nor it deserve my adoration.
For what have I gained from such devotion?
My work is feeble and you are flawed.
and I am filled with disquiet and a loser's pain.
Yet I return to you both, with aching heart,
eager to lose myself again.