Two Scribblers

Two scribblers,

strangers yet intimate in ink,

he a word weaver without equal

hypnotizing letters into lines

attentive and perfectly posed

in poetic trance or dance

to end in spellbinding prose

She an apprentice

with stars in her eyes and heart

cracked open revealing

the strain and struggle of each

loop and line painstaking

fictionalizing truth in amateur script

to end in exposing question

Flurries of messages exchanged

in a tennis match of text

her story divulged for his expert eye

ingesting, suckling each syllable

and sloughing callouses

of gauche ambitious hand

guarded domain unearthing

green gold

to end without fingerprints

From across the room

a desperate yearning

in his gaze, magnets find true north

open mouths, tongues touch

a liquid sweet dance ensues, a tornado

twisting and ripping characters

from a scene, a plotline made for two

to end in romance … or tragedy?