It whispered however a dying wiish

So before it went i answered: Fine then i shall write this to her inspired by each poem the poet reads to himself, I write into existence a new desire.

Allow me to expand upon said thought exchange with you the possibility of airing my heart by hanging it on a tree letting you see its roots letting all its secrets fall out reaching your ears that never look this way hoping to make this tree yours and making my home its veins.

See what happens is....

In longing to write a line resembling mine, I forget to lock the door, thus eternity left us behind.

All that you see and then as i shook my pen, lines of all kinds formed, shapes of bygone thoughts, shadows of what could be, and now my paper is drenched in ink, blue in nature, purple in feelings, Black in kind, and on the edge of the paper farther than anything else the shape of your eye.