at a loss for words
 

i don't have a pen,
is what i told you,
in the wee hours,
when you
returned
from the john
at the ding-dang
yocal greasy spoon,
heart thumping,
my hazel eyes
locked
on your eyes
sky blue,
clear through,
zipping my lip,
along with my purse,
but you said,
there was a pen,
in your truck,
and that you'd
go get it
--or anything--
i ever wanted,
as if
it were
just that simple,
to which,
i replied,
with a grin,
you should
stay put,
because
eggs were
on the way
and
i didn't need
a quill
or any scratchy
parchment,
inasmuch
as i realized
i
didn't need
to be
scraaawwwwling,
mind crawling,
having fully
realized
i was feeling,
full-fledged,
versus thinking
thoughts beyond belief,
and that i was
feeeeeeeeeeeeling
unbelieveable!!
because ...
you had already
given me
so much.