the worth of being, written

if I am woman of paper,

and so enthralled 

with your pen-man-ship.

write on me,

what pours out of your being,

what you have stored

in the vessel of your soul.

that which calls out,

as if the gravity liquified into meaning,

bleeds your existence.

be the spell of your life,

cast as fast drying over me.

find the script of your focus

and yourself as deliverance,

across the spread of my being.

be the pressure and the fluid.

be the sharpness and the flow.

be legibly passionate in en-man-cipation,

so that I will willingly

be taken up into your cause.

I have access to greater realms

then your spoken voice as liquid-travels.

I live the worth of you

beyond your import in passing.

where you have a mind for it,

I have the means 

of further existence, beyond

what your being bring 

and puts to words.

I can carry 

from my deeply within,

what you have of this moment.

I am of

lifetimes in the making

yet I am, 

and bare witness 

to your means,

as a vessel of immortality.

that the truth of you

is born into aliveness.

that you, otherwise, 

could never become to know . . .