i stare at the table and your pen is sitting there too far away for me to touch but too close for me to forget yet i have no desire to touch it nor any desire to neglect because as long as they’re your words and your pen it will forever make a mark it’ll mark my hand my pen and my wrist and my writing reflects your eyes your heart and your soul you are so beautiful, i think as i stare at your pen from the letters you write to the prose you scribble and it crosses my mind that i want the words you write, to be about me, like mine are about you but i know you would not for you are not in love with me, as i am you and you’re words don’t have a secret meaning; displaying myself in their essence as mine do to you and so i’m writing this here, now, for you are beautiful therefore everything you touch is too