of brine and muse

I get walking down the street
Feeling full but incomplete,
With a mixture of intents
My mind boiling and ferments,
The best muse from all those nine
I start boiling in my brine,
I will stammer I will fall
Every time that I recall,
The emotions running through
All the brine turns into stew,
As I simply loose my head
While I ‘m looking at your stead