'I love you,' he said.
'No, you don't.'
'In my poems. You can find my love for you.’
'Love of words.
You live in a box
Rearranging alphabet
Into order

That only you control.'

Like a jazz musician
Finding different improvised
Melodies
Running in parallel lines
With a wayward bounce
The listener pretends
To understand

So the artist draws lines
Creating as if a God.
Man and Woman,
Declaring their love
For each other.
 

I'm trapped in a frame of words.
And from my brain grows

Fruit called apple.

(NB When I copy and paste the spacing goes awry.)