I think of you
grabbing your pen
(Do you even use a pen?)
Looking at the empty page
I see your eyes
the tremble in your cornea
(Did you leave the windows open, again?
the curtains are dancing
Poets are awake
and the light pole is serenading the empty street)
And I wonder
How would you draw me, if you knew I am sad?
Would I be imprisoned in a rectangular shape?
Would I be hanged from a magnolia tree?
Or you’d draw me eating a sandwich alone?
ok not too bad.
You’ll fill that empty page
My blood will drip from your fingers