there are days my words
run dry like sandpaper
when the pen hovers over the paper
and no poetry flows

but you seem to draw magic out of me
sipping through a straw straight to my soul
words are pulled to the surface
like water from the ground

you make my mind
shape syllables slowly
turning them twice or three times
over
you make my
words wrought iron

it's like butterflies burst under my skin
as I ache
to write about you