Love Poem

When I write I love you,

I want to set it down with a pen.

My fingers search keys, tap signals of admiration.

But ink flows and penetrates deeper.

I want to mark it in stone,

carve it into the bark of a fallen tree.

I’ll wear it, instead,

etched on the insides of my eyes.

When my lids slip shut at a blink, or asleep,

those words flare up and remind me.

Like ink, they’ll seep into

the layers of my skin, my flesh,

find their way to my heart

and rest.

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