Pen

I pull out the old pen from the dusty crevices

A rough nib scratches against the yellowed surface of parchment

Croaking words of false wisdom in the dark hours of the night

And the pen declares, “Frost and flame, burn and soothe, hurt and heal”.

Dip the pen in the blackness of ink, and it craves to be put to use

To tell tales of unspoken dreams,

And dip the pen in the blackness of ink, and write on smooth pale skin

As it burns, and is kissed.

Teeth cut down to bear the pain of frost and flame,

Water heals both.