The Writer

I'm sorry about the times that I space-out.
The writer in my soul is drafting
and you seem to inspire her.
Don't take my silence, when you whisper love in my ear,
as indifference.
I can't share until I draft, edit, and finalize.
LEt me show my love through my pen.
I'll send you written copies of Browning's sonnets.
"How do I love thee?"
Let me love you through my words.
Written for you.
I'll make you my leading man,
wooing my protagonist in Europe,
or Brazil, the setting isn't set yet.
You're in my every novel plot and poem.
I'm sorry I can't say it well enough.
Follow my pen.
It will show you.