Writing  Not  Writing

by Anne Gomez Huff





and so i asked you
why, why, why
couldn't you write for me...
...as if i were not worth
the weight of a light haiku
...as if i did not engender
scrawling on a foggy, milky winter window
the constant rise and fall
rise and fall
rise and fall
of your lungs
was enough for me
enough to get ink
into the before inpenetrable cracks
inbetween
my fingertips and my pink skin
writing,
i would try and kiss you
and kiss you
and kiss you
through my cursive
and not writing,
you would run dry
a pen without blood flowing
through its lonely plastic vein







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