(NaPoWriMo#7; 'left this a little late!)
Could I describe an inanimate love to you?
Impossible, through and through!
I don't do that love thingie anymore,
when I want something I don't implore.
I used to invest fond havingnesses in all kinds of things,
but births and deaths and farces…. life other priorities brings.
I've wracked my brain to come up with something now, in a rush;
all I can think of is my ink brush.
It travels with me, wherever I go, and keeps me company even when I'm low.
That, and black, black ink