The best writing caresses me at midnight
Leaves fingerprints between the curve of my shoulder blades 
Trails cool kisses down my neck
The best writing waltzes me under the stars
And pulls me close as they begin to sing us sonatas
The best writing slips in through my windowsill
Left carelessly unopened as though I hadn't thought to close it
At all
The best writing makes empty promises to me before dawn
I know they'll be broken in no time
But I drink them in like I'm starving
Letting them settle into my bones and coat my tongue and cycle through these lungs
The best writing runs wild hands through my hair
Pulling and snagging on strands while it twists
The best writing smells like rain and velvet and rubies and cigars and smog off of a dusky street
And theatre and Amsterdam and strangers and flowers that only bloom at night
The best writing leaves sometime just before first light
Long after I have slipped off to sleep
The best writing leaves nothing to remember itself by
Nothing that will tell me when it will return next
The best writing leaves me cold in the morning