There’s an element of romance
between a writer and their poetry,
the graceful dance of the pen
in the embrace of its author’s fingers
as it outlines its waltz in intricate swirls,
breaking only to twirl in its partner’s arms
before touching down once again,
emptying its energy onto the page
in deep black pigments,
creating the fine lines
that fashion its partner’s work,
until it grows tired of these repetitive steps
and runs out of resolve,
leaving its partner frozen for a moment
before discarding it and moving on to the next,
as if they had never danced.