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  

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  

This smudge of words
I would die in
if I could not write  
what I cannot speak