Crush of Intellect

I've never seen you, Master of Song,
But reading your work-
It makes my heart long
To touch your face
As you whisper in my ear
Lessons I'd hold so dear
This crush is one of intellect-
As on you I often muse
And want to be with you
Though your body I feel no need to peruse.
I want to feel your depth,
Shower in your dreams,
I want to inspire you,
To make your muse sing.
Poet, you're the first
I've not known but still want to impress
I want to be your student
I swear I'd do my best
Master of Meter, God of Rhyme
Let me borrow some of your time
From you let me learn,
Let me see in your world
You make me feel
Like the worn out cliché
Of the little schoolgirl
Just allowed out to play.
Speak to me awhile
Tell me your fears.
In your poetry there's such life,
To drink in your thoughts,
Every need, every strife
This near need consumes me
As the search for a fount of youth
Consumed those before we.
Such sweet ambrosial nectar
Each of your works is to me.
I have a need to read more,
An urge to beg for whatever else is in store.
What wouldn't I give
In one of your masterpieces my likeness to live.
Or more, to hear that you approve
Would such emotions in me move.
You make me feel like some worn-out cliché
Often without giving me the time of day.