You've been dripping a viscous,
Into this far-from-ornate goblet,
Set casually upon a nightstand,
Used commonly in waking hours.
I've been taking exaggerated,
While tilting my head towards you,
and my eyes to the solar system.
You taste beautifully incredible,
and genuinely unobtainable,
and mildly uninteresting,
and somewhat dismissive,
and altogether intriguing.
I don't care for the flavor,
though I adore the palette.
I'd be the brush to lift up your pigment,
and spread your floral ideas across some sort of canvas,
But maybe we'd thrive merely just mixing colors,
and letting them seep until some other artist