Ink

At this keyboard, my fingers are stalled
My brain is tripping over words
Putting sentences together
That I quite like the formation of

Can hardly remember how you once tasted on my lips
How I gasped to kiss you and reconcile the feeling
that my breath was consumed while my being was shared

But it stops there and refuses to cohere
To make the leap from sentence
To sense

On paper, it’s a different story
But like hell I’ll let you see
Where the poem goes
When it’s written in ink

This entry was posted in love, Poem, writing and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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