When ink glistens

And your love cascades beneath the quill

Your eyes steadfast the muse

Your touch like that of the champagne grape before harvest

Reluctant to part the painted words

And fearful the thirst will abate

Never fear

For glisten though it might

Never can the page fully become

The you that is the seed

That generates the vine

That feeds the foul

That becomes the plucked

To be forever the quill

When ink glistens