The beam emanating from the tip of a pen
Shines light between the crevices to the corridors of her soul; paper
The paper
The very fabric of her being
A dormant canvas before a raconteur's eruption
Dips empties the indelible ink fountain
My imagination poured into life
The girl I always wanted is written in calligraphy
She resembles a picture book i had as a child
The one i deliberately used the white crayon to colour
With doodles on the upper right hand corners
And my signature everywhere
PJs and corrective lenses on
Darkness cowers from the lamp on the night stand
Deconstruct her sentences and she tells subliminal nothings
Nothings tangible, which lay your on a leather couch and listen
Evoke memories of embarrassing warmth down your trousers,
Having sandwich ice creams on Sunday afternoons
And everything between your selective memory
Read to judge
My girl is bare and not covered
