The need returns.
How simply she slips back under the fingernails
And dances with flourishing shutters and ripe trains of silk.
A single drop was all she needed,
With her visceral hedonism and need for nudity,
She crawls back into bed with me.
Nourishes me and puts me to sleep
What a terse course of action and pith she makes
In her solitary reverence.
She pulls me forward
And holds me back
With a surgeon's precision
And a junkie's
God save the pens now that she's returned.
Soon it will be
Pens, pens everywhere
And not a
Drop of Ink.