Part 1
give me your handwriting
and a solid kiss,
mixing tongues and muscle memory,
like time is nothing
but a poster ripped from the wall.
every letter lingers
as a tattoo in skin,
forming syllables as sharp
as death spears,
but I still need your penmanship.
Part 2
as a piece of my story,
I will fight for each memory
with weapons you gave me.
do you protect our moments
with a sword or a quill
to kill doubt from depleting days
as a bishop tide of reasons why
before perdition?
Part 3
can you write the word LOVE
on a piece of paper,
take a picture,
and send it to me
somehow?
I will get it tattooed
anywhere you want,
a visual aid to tell the world
about us as I ramble.