Ink

I wish I could write you into love with me
Create constellations of words for you to gaze at while you contemplate my beauty
Write a garden of punctuation for you to wander in, picking a bouquet of the flowers that remind you of me
Produce a whole new key out of consonants for you to write me love songs in, your voice so much like a crystal chandelier
I’d sew you a tux out of juxtaposition and wait for you to ring my doorbell of possessive pronouns
I’d open the door of polished metaphors and fall into your waiting arms of idioms
We’d kiss in colloquial phrases and sigh similes into the nighttime air
Oh, I wish I could write you into love with me
Give me a pen and I’ll use my blood as ink