Last Ink To Bleed

If these words were the last  
ink I were about to bleed    
they'd surround you and caress you    
succumbing to your ever loving need    
   
they'd dance in your fullness    
flutter aloud in your grace    
graze upon the cherished crimson    
accentuating your precious face    
   
the type, bold with cursive mixed in    
would capitalize where all that beauty begins    
each curve christened and every form traced    
slowly oh so so slowly elegant words we'd embrace    
   
beheld in the contextual lingering of your eyes    
hearing accents accentuated with flowery reprise    
sentences will serve with orgasmic exchange    
as the pens erect position is neatly rearranged    
   
endearing a climatic exclamation wound before hitting send    
dipping into the well oiled well again and again