Your Masterpiece, My Muck

Space is calligraphic in the clouds.
So you stand under it to learn it's ways and
write lines in the sky.
White puffs filled with empty
 
inside cosmic planes pens dance around hollow raindrops waiting to take your form
that you write on the back of your hand with Sharpie.
Clouds turn black with ink that fell from your palm
and light the void paper below with literature dark
with stars
and my quills sit in ink wells
waiting for a cloud clear slate to prance past. I am
too lost in the empty
space. But you...
Drip, drip, the page bleeds
pitch since it can't hold the calligraphy of your 3D space.