Last Ink To Bleed
If these words were the last
ink I were about to bleed
they'd surround you and caress you
succumbing to your ever loving need
they'd dance in your fullness
flutter aloud in your grace
graze upon the cherished crimson
accentuating your precious face
the type, bold with cursive mixed in
would capitalize where all that beauty begins
each curve christened and every form traced
slowly oh so so slowly elegant words we'd embrace
beheld in the contextual lingering of your eyes
hearing accents accentuated with flowery reprise
sentences will serve with orgasmic exchange
as the pens erect position is neatly rearranged
endearing a climatic exclamation wound before hitting send
dipping into the well oiled well again and again
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