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