Blue ink bleeds into her pink wet summer skin

Where I provided my John Hancock

(As if my signature claims her body as my Art).

She giggles as I write

The name of God on her breast.

My pen never runs dry-

Our ink well is deep,

An eternal blue.

Words become stories become this bible

We are writing together.

Ignoring punctuation and grammar

And the bath that comes before morning coffee

The press of my pen will be felt long after

In this my Declaration.