An Obsession of Lines

photograph by colbalt123

Like pens on a grid
or coffee to hot to drink.

Like pins on a grid
or coffee that scalds the tongue.

The ink is held down
boiling black bubbles.

Like the weight ink
on a burnished tongue.

The blood of India on a stick,
in praise of your mouth and teeth.

These instruments played by desire
can never be one.

Like a fish and a bird
or the song an old man sings,

A wet page can no longer hold.

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2 thoughts on “An Obsession of Lines

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