As the poet loves the pen

I love you
Tragically unique in between
These empty pages and full bottles
I love you fully like the flame in dead of winter
Your warmth, a fragrance I know better than my own
You are my begining and my future
Leaving the middle canvas blank
To be filled by my longing
It isn't easy to explain this sudden madness
As it isn't easy to count the stars in the city sky
Yet somehow you make it rewarding all the same
I love you as simply as the poet loves the pen
You are my endless ink.