you breathe, you breathe,
your precious prize is life so not
can you go on, and on, and on and breathe,
when she and i and all the ones
you've loved one by one against your
paper pressed one by one,
you promised every one of us i
know precious, precious hair and
eyes and twisting hips on paper
in your callous ink, you swore
you loved us one by one.
your breathing still, and you
press those breaths like us one by
one, into your machine and i
am not as beautiful as the one (by one,
by one, by one, by one, by one, by one)
you loved into your leather book
in my turn your pen sketched
a face that loved you (all at once
and only you) and now i think
how beautiful it really is that you
in flowing lines struck one by one
are the last one of us
pressed on that last paper by one
of the ones you loved one by one
and though we are black on black on
white and unfortunately bare against
the fading, stinking brown of your own veins
it was one of us opened your veins and dipped your pen
that one of one of one of us few ones
that one who was not ready
to be loved only as long as
you drew that one her.
an hour? a day? she keeps you on that page,
you loved us but she has your book