When the words won’t come
most guys stare at a blank page and wait for it to happen.
There’s no inspiration on an empty page for me.
But the hands that hold the pen and pad are my salvation.
Worn and scarred.
Days of dirt, and nights of blood.
Dipped in oceans
and calloused by fire.
Smooth against the small of her back
or clenched tight
on her ass.
First to fight, and aching to create,
they speak to me in the