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