to the scribble of my pen on paper:
ardent, desperate, hot:
bird caged in barbed wire and wool,
fed ground coffee and coca leaves.
of my other loves:
none as big
none as beautiful, but just as real
between me and sadness,
so that i don’t have to do it myself:
a mediator, a true constant.
you are the paper i write on,
carving words into the thick muscle of heart:
water is thinner than blood.
you are the dream I must have had
before you held me in the night.
you are. you are. you are.