High Time For This

I want to have a mutual love with words a civil union bound by the light of hope I want people to think of me not by name but as the girl with the ink covered soul Thoughts of me should be equivalent to thoughts of thundered storms and raging, heartfelt winds, the twilight of childhood and the smell of wet pavement- a palette of colors no lips nor eyes have tasted; they should be the curve of a smile and roll of a tear The art of capturing the stars is done not by net nor with telescope but with a pencil clutched in little fingers holding on for the moon the smell of grey should be coursing through my blood hair woven with letters and smile fractured by things yet spoken and my humanity shall be decided by the degree of how my heart has stretched My eyes will be bleeding stories to keep the promises to catch the phrases before they whisper away, as they so often do and my life should be colored not by the things I've said but by the words only my mind has heard, the wandering thoughts that linger throughout I mean to say I'm deeply in love with a power greater than pen that causes my heart to tremble as my fingers tap it causes the waves to rush the leaves to sing the wind to carry us away and I'm deeply in love with this wondrous thing only a broken tree can hear and only an ocean's abundance could dry out my love because I'm so devoted to this beautiful thing that I'd let it break my walls and bend my bones to share a cup of ink