Because

Because I'm made of oceans deep,
Sunsets nigh,
bittersweet tales of creative sloth,
And honey-nectar sweetened love.

Because I'm made of black curtains in a darkly lit room:
Pens scribbling away at blank canvases;
Wasting away in the bliss of a grey rainstorm;
Listening to the pitter-patter
Of crisp droplets
On the memory-stained glass. 

Because I'm made of 
written lost words
And enigmatic lores.
Bleeding the ink-stained heart
Onto unsuspecting love. 

Summer caresses
And winter flourishes
While I lie dormant
In dulled wishful thinking.