Her Keeper

She was my fountain, my muse;
I was full of her lips grazing across mine,
brimming with hips consciously restrained.
She was not a deep well of joy,
but a wild ocean of an angel--
and I was special too,
because I knew.

I drank deep of happiness, for
the keeper of the source never thirsts.
I continued long after she left,
laid aside without solace but
to squander my remaining fortune.

Then with poetry I scraped it
like jam from a jar,
somehow not realizing
that when it was gone
I would be empty.