Scripted Ink by Sophie de Tournemire

I do not want to be someone who writes in pencil, 
Someone who walks with their eyes glued to the street
And tops of strangers feet, I do not want to be someone
Who drifts through the brightest constellations without ever
Greeting a single star. I do not want to be
Someone who forgets to breathe in
The rythmic presence of a strangers heartbeat.

I want to be someone who speaks in scripted ink
Hollow yet concrete so that the oceans, rivers and valleys echo
With a voice soaked in sunrise observances; 
The gentle breeze from strangers' eyelashes, cloudy rings around irises.
I want to be someone who when their hands become obsolete, 
Rays of stardust from their fingers creases they'll leave.