the page welcomes me like a lover

the page welcomes me like a lover; its broad expanse of white flesh seems to beg me, “come, make your mark, tattoo me with your touch”.
the pen is supple in my hand, like a limb, yielding beneath my fingers, the words flow and dance across the page like my breath, excitable, and each new letter is as fresh as a first kiss, they join together as if they were making love out of sheer joy at being released.
the page calls and wheedles to me like an intoxicant must to an addict, beckoning me to take it and scribble my soul savagely across it, until it is mine, and the ink darkens it, like blood on snow.
the page whispers to me in the dark, so I cannot sleep, it’s purity begging to be defiled. It is a demanding mistress…
and I know this will make no sense to anyone else. anyone except to those whom the page welcomes, calls to, like a lover.