Bemusing Writer


for days this heart chases
the prints of a stranger
to the end of my notebook
no peace of mind
only a piece of paper

curious I follow a font
surprisingly foreign to my eyes
craving a pause
yet stumbling over commas
seeking familiar words

I notice characters as melodies
that flow down the page
and I learn its rhythm
joyous in his fancy
I then daydream on the edge of a line

fearing he may resort to a
cleaner notebook
I hop down a few stanzas
but beside a period
he greets me and my heart
blissfully stops

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