If I were paper...

...To the poet,
I'd gracefully
allow the ink's spit
 
if I  were the blank canvas
an' 'pon my alabaster skin
poetry, I would welcome
come unto thee, sink deep in
 
if I could allow the verse
to relay the poet's soul intent
like the perfect storm, hand
n' pen...bleed til spent
 
would it be a release
of a heart shred in two
or might it just vent
a mighty rage thru
n' thru?
 
or perhaps an expelled lust
from the poet's mental thrust
or would he simply trust
the muses soothes a mental-US
 
if I were the paper
n' you the poet
i'd honor your vision
in any manner you'd
decide to show it...