He Says...

it's morning i'm scorning the sunlight again
damn these fingers to hell with the pen
on a great big bed in my head i desire
to return to rest to return to retire
but life is a fist i'm the puppet with strings
stuck in my skin, it's a sin, how it stings!
so save me with scissors
cut me loose from the stars
collaborate on creation
we already are

She Says...

As is evident to artist ears and souls that doth create,
The duo's pens, both circling, do clearly demonstrate,
A will to fashion, a delightful passion for words and all their wiles.
And so will the two...in their quest to beguile, solely fabricate...
Or perhaps one day, in their witty way, attempt to collaborate?

He Says...

i speak of spurring a spark, starring in a sparring match of thoughts
hatched from a heavenly hen, a pen and a point to make, to fabricate
friction with diction for the sake of fiction, harmless like hell
on a cold winter's day, the devil's pitchfork will stab only hay

She Says...

frightened is the mechanism
it cannot see past comparisons and victories
that stunt its freedom and gnarl the paths that should flow freely.

clashing withers the spirit
and blinds art.
let's not fight.
venni vidi vicci

He Says...

so much pressure you have placed on my brain that this train of thought
will derail and the product will pale in contrast to the last letter
laced with lucid longings

your praise has raised a reason to write
in a realm without curses
let's fight
verses versus verses

She Says...

The compliment that you have sent
Is but a clever line.
I feel as though your words deserve
More lavish praise than mine.
For they whisper of a poet of grander skill than I,
These words delight and sail beyond
All that meets the eye.

He Says....(the beginning)

if you're expressing fondness for that last correspondence
I'm glad you appreciate for it was I that did create
those words in that stream
at times my mind tends to drown in dreams

you aint so bad yoself.