Fluid in the Pens when let loose,

on the rugged pulp of the earth,

textured too smooth,

finds a way to draw tangents on straight lines,

reminiscing of the smirks

that curves towards you.

Arteries outbound a mess of emotions,

to neurones that assemble

what it feels in the heart,

are the faces that resemble

in the letters of the words

in the letters that we wrote,

unsure to be read or kept away,

but still let loose all the same.

The Chambers are too tiny to keep inside

what is meant for the ears of another,

But there is beyond what the eyes can see,

what is not to be felt by vision or voice,

It is felt by the breathe of a forest tree,

it is felt by the touch of the still wet ink,

living in the pages that are meant for you,

it is felt by the warmth of a Memory,

Now Living in your Own Heart through & through.