It starts as it always does
	You and I ensconced beneath big sunny windows
	speckles of dust twinkling like energy beams in warm drafts
	Me straining so hard for a melancholy air
	while you create colorful pop culture worlds across an optimistic canvas
	of heavenly whites and sky blues
	My angst can't manifest in this environment
	Blind words struggle to exist on a page. Graphite snaps beneath the pressure.
	And I watch you for a time
	hunched over the table like a mad scientist
	Perhaps the one who haunts the world you created for your silent friends
	who wait patiently for my words to give life to their vibrant poses.
	Your locks dip into your eyes in your productive frenzy
	Wisps of hair trail through lines of ink so delicately placed upon the page
	a mischievous grin etched upon your face.
	Too much happiness here.
	I rise from my shaded corner
	dark limbs stretching towards the stark white of your drawing table
	gleaming sunlight bouncing from your glossy locks
	and pluck a pencil from the holy grail of utensils perched precariously at your side.
	Your gaze shifts from paper to flesh
	nestled between the soft valley of my breasts
	your grin shifting ever further towards the apples of your cheeks.
	And for a moment--just a quick flash in time
	I wonder if I should fall prey to your lines
	the flirtatious words in private corners of summer parties
	pleading banter in great convention halls of the magical and mythical
	and let us tumble to polished wood floors
	pages and pages spilling from my grasp
	to let a cushion of plots and panel layouts soften our frenzied fall.
	Bristol against a bare back
	ink spilling across a thigh to trace the lines nature had previously penciled in
	but instead I withdraw
	smirking at your wanton gaze
	and return to the safety of my wary mind
	as we part
	the surest of friends
	like pictures and words.