Lost in the ebb and flow
Of your hidden soul;
Caught up in the curves
Our lines create,
The uneven beauty,
The rhymeless sequence
And rhythm filled verse;
Intrigued by your doublespeak,
In love with the puns
Flourishing from your dripping quill,
Pressed against my pure white page;
Oh, fill me, let me overflow!
Heart-pounding; begging for mercy,
Wet and dying with your prose
©2018 – V. A. Coote