I feel like I'm losing whatever power I had to fuss with words and put them into proper poems

And that worries me-

Not because I feel some deep need to do this-

I almost always find something,

But because, from what I could tell, they made you happy

I know just stating that seems profoundly presumptuous

But I know that spending time with you, watching you, hearing you, seeing you, reading what you write-

It all means a lot to me, since you are so good

I just want to have something that I do, that can bring you that same joy, somehow.

That's what scares me about possibly losing this.

But I'm neurotic about things, from the start- 

So expecting something to be doomed is how my brain works.

I can only hope that this isn't a self-fulfilling prophecy, since you are what helps me to push on in this form.

Which is why I will, until I've wrung out every last drop.

You're such a great muse, you don't even know- 

But if I can make these worth your eyes alone, that'll be more than enough.