My pen in my hand
Poised above the paper
Like a man behind a woman

With its stiffness
I begin to press its tip into the page
Your body jerks away
As if from a tattooist's needle
Trembling from its pain and its permanence

I stroke your hair reassuringly and tell you:
"It is only words and ink and fantasy"
Your fingers dig into my thigh
Blessing the progress of my prose

"Where are we now?” you ask
"Alone on an island; the world turning only for us"
"Only for us..." you echo back, steadying your breath
" This will be our story" I continue
"Our story..." your voice slowly cracking

Questions consuming you like a forest fire
Or a virus
I lift my pen to remind you
That this is only words and ink and fantasy
...the infection rages on

The diamonds in your eyes become black pebbles
And fall like the shadows of snowflakes

I watch as your skin and your blood
Turn translucent from doubt and from fear
I see your heart
Pulsing like a jellyfish swimming away from me

Helpless, I can only look on
As you reach out, grasping at nothing
Your form fading from my view

I write the final lines in the air
Letters and ink dropping to the floor
Making no sound