Flowing

For my love flows upon you.

My love flows through you.

My flow loves upon you.

For whatever you touch will flow.

For your hand shall flow.

For in your hand I have placed my flow.

For it pours from your pores when you write.

For the edge shall have definition.

For your words shall have definition.

A sharp distinction between that which is written and that which it rests upon.

A fine edge, a cutting edge, a refined edge, a clear edge.

But then the flow comes.

As you write.

As it is written.

As it is established.

As the ink dries.

The flow comes to the edge.

The flow drips from the edge.

And there you shall find puddles under the edge.

Embedded in the edge. Engraved within the edge. Flowing from the edge.

In some places the flow messes with the edge, the edge is less defined, it is more about the flow.

In others they shall see the flow under your words, and find themselves mopping up the flow, again and again, until they see that the flow has come from the edge.

In other places the word will be for a moment, and then be swept up in the flow.

And you shall see the words of the edge falling from the wall, and into the current of the flow. You will see the edge bringing a disturbance to the flow, like white water rapids. Drawing attention to the flow, magnifying and amplifying the flow.

In this place you shall see the edge defines the flow, the flow carries the word far and wide, spreading its impact, amplifying its impact, filling every crevice and hidden place, even the most resistant washed away by the flow.

There is an edge to the flow, and a flow to the edge.