There is a moment when you have written so much, that you don't know when you began anymore
When words race on in endless rows, commas and semi-colons bunch all together, nouns become verbs
Your eyes blur, your fingers cramp, and there will never be enough ink - never enough journal pages
That is how you are to me
All black lines and blue ink on Saturday morning
I would pen you down in all the blank white spaces,
Cover to cover
Line for line
Finish you off with a final pointed period
Make of you a bedtime story for children not born
Read the whole of you nightly and now
If I could, but I can't - so I'll wait
Scribbling along blank page beside page
Reading along as we write us down
I'm humming along to the chords you strike in me
I will write you as you come to me
Love you like you let me
Take you as I can
Look by look
Talk by talk
Bit by bit
Link by link
Touch by touch
Bird by bird
And that will be enough
Because you are.
