Inevitability

it is always you with coffee eyes
always you who sang my poetry
always you who asked,
"why do you always talk about taking hands"
darling...
I'm but a self-proclaimed
saccharine
lovesick artist--
touch-starved and lonesome
but for the graphite extension of my fingers,
of my tongue;
if there were a world
in which I could hold your hand instead
I wouldn't be writing about it