A pen streams out its contents,
so permanent and true.
But would it be so quick to tell
if once it only knew?
The ribbon trails behind the boat,
the wake begins to swell,
a velvet black against bleach log
marked now by coy rebel
The sleekness catches glints of light
as metal strums along.
Unknowingly it glides away
i’cent to love gone wrong.
The hand dance waltzes round its frame,
bodice a gentle sway.
Addressed to maiden all banal
to her, his eyes gone grey.
Fair features new have caught his gaze.
His vice declined withdrawal.
And in that hotel bedroom glow
the pen continues scrawl.
*Header Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash