Cerebral Omelette

I recently fell in love. I wasn't planning to, it wasn't an event on my horizon, it sort of crept up on me, it wasn't diarised, I was single, thinking existence was peachy, no gaps needed filling, and then, bam, there she was, creating a gap that i didn't know needed filling!. Yet she was right.
I have only been in love once before, when i was but a child at the age of 18, but this is a mature love, it shrouds me in a cloud of security.I wear it every day. I rub my hands together in satisfaction and glee. I'm a poet, I make no apologies for that, she has made that make sense, no longer a teenage fantasy, I'm a 33 year old, adult male, and she is a constant tapping on my brain, whisking the yolk of my cerebral omelette.
A writer needs a muse, that's what I heard, in lyric absurd, see i am doing it already, a steady beat, tip tap, dum dum, tip tap, dum dum, it is a pulse in my head, fed.
I forgot how love felt.
I could describe it, i could tell you, the reader, how it is. I could compose a sonnet, I could describe my imagination, the torments of dreams, that's easy, it's what I do. Yet to allow you to glide, inside, that's more difficult.
I am not intentionally being patronising nor condescending, I hate people like me. So why am I doing this?
Just to provide an answer of some descript. It can happen.
My mind has been scrambled for some time now. I could have given in. I didn't. I made a cerebral omelette instead. She came in. and ate.
Don't hate me for this. I fell in love, and will prove, through my writings, that it was worth it.