It shapes his thoughts into wordless pictures
that single day, weeks, maybe
moths of his manic crazed (and turtured sometimes)
feelings of differing moods of his characters;
in his pen there’s nothing he can’t do: bees
ad dogs ad the sun do his bidding, space and time
is nothing to him and the pen.
More inanimate love poem prompt posts @ NaPoWriMo Site and WritersDigest