art meant to love

"you've got a sensible eye
for the finest
for the weakest and the best
and then he plays and nibbles around
with his fingers on black keys.
somehow this was always meant to be in my head.
am i a sensible piece of art?
am i inside the complex keys in your mind?
am i, as you fall asleep
the fleeting shadow under your eyes?
it's the never ending question.
all i know is you haven't been mine.
if i am a lover of the art
am i art meant to be loved?