she begs for ink
like a blind man
desperate for a
moment of
in.sight

-that it seems
we can only write. together


in muted breath
like whispers. she takes
to heart
the way pens
trace fault lines in skin:
her parchment aches for
quill kisses


and I--
vocabulary quivering,
am shaking
to oblige

with lips
being written. anxious
these words- this ink
coiling like
caresses
on pages

and still she begs.
she begs--

I pen words
that cause worlds to collide
in her eyes
and she trembles
with every verb

I beat her to the page
but she ties me to the
metaphor

and we scream trochees
to an illiterate sky.