• Brightened paper lies before me,
    Sitting like the light of morning
    And finding now the song begins
    The fated luscious duet between,
    A planned - and unaware -
    Like mirrors to a quiv'ring face
    Unsure of pitches nor of time.
    Ours, yours, mine. The truth of what exists
    Our scribbles lay intermixed
    In orderly fashion, begging to touch just
    One droplet, ink.
    Interlaced and viny eyes,
    Our title writhes just as the hands
    Of our entangling spirit.