Not Quite Ready for a Title.

She is the ink on my fingertips after a long night of writing
Slightly smudged and faded, but nevertheless there
Sunken into my pores and blended in with my fingerprints
Sometimes I press my hands to my greedy nose and inhale her
Not the flavor of my skin
Or the gaudy aroma of soap trying to mask her scent
Just her

She is the flurry of complicated arithmetic problems
That I try to solve with nervous, quivering fingers, disjointed pencil strokes
Complex, frustrating, and difficult to understand
But I can’t deny myself the joy that floods me
When I reveal another one of her answers
Unravel another one of her mysteries
Make the rest of her just a little bit easier
To fathom

She is the shower of cold water that cascades down my skin every day
She may seem mundane to others
Just another chore, just another routine
But I treasure her
She covers me up and immerses me
Drenching my flesh in goosebumps
Invigorating it
Exciting it
Replenishing it

And yet
She sees none of this
She does not comprehend
She does not understand
She
Does
Not
Know
Of the little aspects of her
That turn me into me
She stands on shaky, fawn-like legs
Unsure of what to do though she’s already done everything
For me

So I have made it my task
I have made it my goal
To make her see,
To help her understand
To let her know
That she is my fuel, my knowledge, my wakeup call

She is my everything
And I will die trying to achieve it

[A/N: More or less the first thing I've done in over a year. My writing has gotten very shaky, but I still have a feeling of satisfaction with this.]