I wielded my pen,

and papered my way with the darkest

of inks,

to jab you in the heart,

with my prose

 

A fist fight ensued, in which

I fought off all jealous lovers

using my sharpest wit,

and daring cunning,

 

But your eyes turned away, and yet,

towards me, in that direction,

where I a reflection, saw

in a pool so deep, so calm, and so cool

 

Your eyes like pools, darkened,

and words like ripples, meeting

joining, like prose

being written upon,

 

My words and your words as well,

inks and shining swords, clashing

-becoming one

-becoming one…

 

 

 

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