Tell. me you love me again.
As you run your fingers through my hair.
While touching your temples with my pen.
As I touch yours with new born grace.
Once kisses of power.
My heart was devoured.
Blood flow blue.
Royal blue my lord.
I shall write my words for you.
As I write my words for all and sundry.
The girl whose heart turned cold and blue.
In a mismatch of a hotchpotch.
Of gobbledygook mistaken.
On a crisp cold winters day.
She begs for nothing.
Nothing at all.
Perhaps pride came before her fall.
Her fall from grace entirely dropped.
Discarded in dreams puddles.
Her poems now extended.
Too many months descended.
To put my words in consonants and vowels.
To fill the cracks with trowels.
No, not mine you fool.
Words are my nourishment.
Sometimes my punishment.
As the book of revelations.
I lay open.
Not signalling Armageddon.
Nor the end of my world.