Touch

If my hands can no longer touch you,

I will touch my pen to paper and draw you out.

I will make love to you through these words.

I will speak these words into existence, so they may travel off the page to you and into your hands.

Though first, I may chew them up and spit them out once the bitterness of a love you left in darkness fills my mouth.

I hope you can still find the beauty in them, though.

I hope to hear back.

Though if you do not reply, I will still be resting with the burnt texture that is my love

For you,

You have left me.

Love is a cruel mistress, I suppose.

For she allows me to love you,

While you're out, loving another.