You'll never die in the hands of a writer.
Her fingers will trace the stubble over your cheek,
Wander the planes of your skin,
Memorise and evoke poetry from the smallest of things...
You'll never die in the hands of a writer.
Her eyes roam over your face,
Your every expression noted and stored away,
For stories to spun of strong, gentle grace...
You'll never die in the hands of a writer.
Her pain will write many deaths of loves,
Painful, harsh and beautiful
Till she abandons you like dying star...
You'll never die in the hands of a writer.
Even through the death and birth,
Whatever beauty she ever beheld
In you, stays immortalised along side the hurt,
As you transform into magnificent art
Like a stormy sun and a hot, wet rain,
Something rare, harsh and precious,
You'll never die in the hands of a writer.
