You could've copied the dictionary
and it wouldn't have mattered.
Just those beautiful scripted letters
on a page in my hands.

The ink bled through just enough
to saturate the corners of the cursive.
It's all curves and valleys.
A font I could only lust after.

It had soul.
Almost like the very words you wrote
were in direct allusion to the gods;
Like all the connected alphabet fell to the ground
and on it's knees, worshipped you.

I wanted to read everything you took note of
Even, on occasion, your grocery lists.
But then, You could have copied the dictionary
and it wouldn't have made any difference at all.