3262
Engraved
On a Ticonderoga
I reached to the back of my skull
And found the same number engraved
In me
Serendipitous utensils
I know how silly
Love can be
But why not believe,
Yellow slender;
Soul mate.
We are writing utensils
Intertwined
Flowing
Like letting go of a manuscript
In a windstorm
But you hurt me so.
Do I use you?
Or do they use me?
Were you here?
Is your motives for nothing,
But profit?
Is your heart not in it,
The way it once was?
It will feel like years
Until I see you again
But I’ve never loved
Like I love the pen
And once the door closes
I’ll curse your name
Wish the lips never parted
Slithering tongue
The picking of
flesh from bone,
My vulture
My muse
Moving me to new grounds
