Inking out loud for you.
For my thoughts are stars
you fathom into constellations.

Inking out loud for you.
My verses, poetic.
You, the poetry.

I wish I could call you a poem.
But honey, I think you're a novel.
Without an epilogue.

I'm here at the preface.
And you, between my lines.
Read them out for me,
what's between the lines,
will you?

Because only you can.
Between and beyond.

- Landlocked Sailor