I am a baker with a single loaf of bread, eager to be caressed by one tongue.

I am a singer, throat stitched to a looping melody of longing.

I am an author with a once inked page, never turned, forever dog-eared.

I am the artist whose paintbrush knows the weight of just one color, unbroken strokes across a lone canvas.

My devotion to you is one such as this— to stray from my infatuation would never forge such a relic.

Years of practice and study could never grapple with the hours spent in your favor.