make love in her waters

there are times when i take out my pen and i take out my paper and i hold them together, still. pen meets paper and both grow hungry. wetting. anticipating. pen wants to fuck, make love to paper, turn her ten ways inside out covering her untouched body in kisses and licks and swirls. and paper lays down waiting, wanting, heaving with passions unwrit. waiting. wanting. waiting... waiting...

these are the times when words sit on the surface of my skin heavy with airs of superiority, an unwillingness to translate through my voice. they sit, smug and scornful, sipping herbal tea wondering what karma gave them this fate of ill use.

but there are times when i dip into the river's creativity. there are times when i'm not ashamed to open my soul to her taste and she fills me with passions as i writhe inside of her and her words flow through me.