not an artist

i am no longer an artist

i now stand vigil

at the bedside

of a man

tangled in blue sheets

i worship at his feet

like he is a god

i am no longer a writer

i am a lover

that is drowning

in love

i have taken it to be

my full time occupation

from when my eyelids part

in the sun’s glare

i speak in a tongue

only he understands

because my heart

does not speak in words

it speaks in the language of lovers

that artists hate

and love

but nonetheless

the tongue still moves