The Life and Love of Ink: a poem

Mar 30, 2008 - 12:15 PM PST

with every word i stroke onto the page
you tell me yes, yes
more, more,
or no, no
not that way
how about this
that's it
right there
don't stop
this is so good
give me more

and i do, frantically, passionately
running my fingers along keys that
create flesh-and-blood people who
love, who hurt, who laugh, who cry
and you do, love, hurt, laugh, cry
along with
them,
interacting with
them,
having conversations with
them,
trying to figure out what makes
them
tick
and why you feel like the counterpoint
tock
of their lives

i always pause, letting you catch up,
letting you build up to the height i'm at
before i can press forward, my words
tumbling down the page,
entering into your psyche,
filling you with longing
that burns and thrums in your chest,
the most tender of breasts
before invoking flames between thighs,
flames that could engulf the page,
the words,
the lives i create
for us to play in

that page,
where my words exist,
is where i exist, too, bleeding
my passion onto the page for you
to run your fingers through the ink
and make you think
of me
and my characters
and where we fit in with them
with us