because I am typing your words
on tracing paper
                        typing as slowly

as saying a prayer
                        so that you
are the fixed centre around which

my eye moves
            because I am doing this
in a room I have made white –

because there has been too much blood
in our years together –
and because     it is only in this solace

of white           in this slow action
that the next word will come
            because of the space –

created by the time
                        between words
                        all of the spaces white

and because of the echo
            of the typewriter
in this empty room           empty

            save for a bed
white of course
                        because of this

you have delivered pink roses
with an abundance of leaves
their petals small tongues whispering

            their firm hearts layered
                        and beautiful to peel
it is because of the white

                         that the roses are here
imploring dancing                   dancing
under a candelabra of white papers