What does he do? How’s it different from the rest?
not a lot he knew, he never gave his best;
for he didn’t have to.
Do those banks make a river? Or the river the bends?
Do those lips make your words? Or do they just speak?
Is it really true? That he never wrote a word?
only gave them ink, and allowed them through?
from fingertips to sheet; how, he never knew?
he doesn’t have a clue.
Lovers don’t need to know to the why and how
just love will do