love scrawls

Holding in the Ink

You hover over my mind like a brilliant butterfly!

I can not hear your voice but I can see you

I can see the imprint on your soul with these pixels of light dancing to your bidding.

Oh, how I wish I could draw the right flower,

with lucious colours and soft petals to entice you to rest upon my heart

and dance the beat as it plays out these mindless

concotions of creative fluttering and stuttered verse.


But I am of ink.

Ink is only a memory of shades when only one colour

this limiting garden of exhillaration and respite

is all I will have of you and where I call to rest my soul

as you hover like a brilliant butterfly ever moving

while I try in vain to trace your wing tips

in some tangible form so that I may feel it,

perchance to lay it on my heart like a silken touch

and believe for one moment through the stroke of a pen

we exist in the same instant trancended

wrapped in your guilded sheaths through my roughly torn out inkscrawls

delineating your beautiful wings.



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