Not Without My Muse

I'm afraid I've become quite the stalker

chasing down all the words you might use

It may come to you as a slight shocker

but I think you have become my muse

I scavenge your words like a vulture

saving every last scrap like a prize

Then I harvest it like agriculture

to display something new for your eyes

I've avoided revealing my secret

for your words are not solely for me

So, to save any misstep or regret

I keep them safe in a reliquary

For to me your words have become sacred

this holy sacrifice I lay at your feet

This poem for you, I've created

to make my "stalkery" complete