you say.

you say
i shouldn't write so many lines
that (my words are sellouts,
and only shells of what they should be.)

(but how can i stop
when i have you to inspire me?)

and i say
"pity, you! for carving me open and
planting your distempered seeds
of hope (to have them feast on
such a frail heart?)"

((and you reply, "did we not learn long ago
that paper wings shan't help a girl fly?))