A Space Apart

I do not listen to music;
The frenzied vibrations mingle too much
With the dulcet tones in your chords.

I do not look at art;
The vibrant lines and colour
Fade against the luminosity in your eyes.

I do not make art,
I may try and strive,
But I already know the living in front of me
Stands as the ideal I cannot touch.

I may have tried to carve out a form in stone,
And the curves were fitting and flowing,
But there was none of that yielding,
None of the softness or the warmth.

Beyond that I do not try to write
The violence that your emotions inflict on me,
Because the flat words are nothing like
The rhythms with which you make the air sing.

I keep these things separate in your company,
Their experiences in a space apart;
For the space I am in is filled with you.