“To describe is to destroy. Décrire, c’est détruire.”
I write because your reading feeds me
My pen exists because words need me
Each spill of ink, each drop of blood
A new branch grows, a new leaf buds
With each new verse, a piece of me dies
But for this poem to exist you must realize
It nourishes itself upon my very soul
Consumes and assumes me, makes me old
So please read slowly, my existence demands
A frugal consumption this poem in your hands
When you have finished, with closed eyes pray
There’s a few words left for another day
The Winter Bites My Bones 
love the whole poem–particularly the first line–that is why I write too– sharing yourself in your words is both depleting and nourishing
LikeLike
If its depleting and nourishing, what about those jeans?
LikeLike
I need a little depleting or the next size up
LikeLike
Your poems continue to amaze!
LikeLike