His touch is graphite
His breath, the flutter of paper
His eyes are pools of ink
And his soul is unwritten words
Her mind is swirling concepts
Her mouth is full of unspoken ideas
Her hands are smudged and stained
And her heart is written out in neat print
The room is cluttered and clean
The air is full of murmurs and half-finished lyrics
The floor is covered in abandoned writings
And in the midd...