authorship docking at the port of call, choice being made even now as we think

i feel it too, but not
because of me, it's because of you
and as i listen, my emotion
changes, and i become softer
and i become quieter
and suddenly, i hear what you were saying
but you're yelling again, because
you don't believe that i can hear you when you whisper
because i didn't yesterday, and i won't tomorrow
but i'm trying right now, so can we be on the same page?
there is a page, right?
--that's your question, not mine.
i take the reins once again, and let you know
that yes, love, there is a page, and i've been
writing in it all along. but it's so beautiful, and so mysterious,
so different than anything you've ever seen,
that you don't even know how to recognize it,
how to see it there, right in front of your face
the pieces fall, and you look at them, crying
not realizing that the disassembly too is part of it.

and it's just like it always was,
and always is when we start a new chapter,
more beautiful than the last: you don't know
how to believe it, how to see it even, but
that's the point: if you understood it,
you wouldn't like it then, either. and
i know what this is writing, because
i'm the one who's writing it,

but don't worry,
because i'm not shooting in the dark any more.
i finally hear you, i finally see
and it's your story i'm writing, it's you, it's you, it's you
it's you, my love, it's you i hear
it's you i see, it's you i feel, it's you i dance to
when i close my eyes, when i'm all alone
in a room full of people, and i only hear you.
just meet my gaze, love, and see
that it may be my hand, and my pencil
but it's our book, and it's
your story.