Eyes; engraved onto Swiss opaline parchment,
an odd silvery blankness waits for its miracle.
Somewhere scribed into the fibers of time; we touched.
Distinctiveness, individuality and artistic nature,
fingers eloquently forming each letter of life into
kaligraphia; writing bleeding in india ink
ready to trace our seamless contours and curvaceous
silhouettes begging to be bound into elegant
Eons of particles from life flutter over empty pages
pleading to be written upon.
Libraries torn down, too far for our fingertips,
as the heavenly fragrance of freshly pressed paper
and ink is lost to the hum of electronics…
But; I so needed to reach You.
My dribbled ink spots on the pages of our lives
covered, bound…stacked along dusty shelves,
book after book.
The weight of my words destined to collapse
into the mouths of Megabytes
munching away at our human remains……