BONS MOTS (by Deidre Cartmill)

If he reached for me …. I’d drop my pen

He says that I don’t love him.
He says that I caress the page,
stroke my pen across its face
while he lies aching
for my tender touch.

He says that I roll words for thrills,
disguise the pain
in chocolate drops of thought
that drip from mind to nib
in vain.

But if he reached for me,
if he salved my soul with wordless
whispers from the tongue of his desire,
I’d drop my pen
I’d blaze through life on fire.

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