These women, they are old
in touch with ancient ways
the dredging of deeper points
they've come to know
and show, without hiding

Their faces are worn weathered maps
lines and holy roads
with soulful eyes
smiling they settle
and sit you down
beside them

In their circle of fire and knowing
these women of the earth
serve milky tea and mirth
their laughter resounds
it pounds the heart
grounds you there
in the fervent pureness
of your tears

the pen and the paper are lovers
the pen whispers and the paper remembers
the paper wants to forget

The pen traces the forbidden heart  
the paper and the pen are lovers

there are traces of you all over me - tells the paper to the pen
How do you know what is to love somebody the way I love you?

and I am still working on this ... any suggestions?