sorry

You may say you don't 
but you know me; of me 
and my swelling quiet 
 
and they may say 
over and over 
in a low rumble 
not to write of love 
I know, I know 
 
I close my eyes 
the sanguine lids 
like a heart 
throbbing&nbsp;&nbsp;
 
In ink it spills 
brims over like tears withheld 
and stains the stark white page 
 
your whiskers at dusk 
the fine lines in your lips 
Your eyes drip like jewels 
heavy and sparkling&nbsp;&nbsp;
 
This smudge of words 
I would die in 
if I could not write&nbsp;&nbsp;
what I cannot speak