typewrite your love

I find love proclaimed
So much better on a typewriter.
Maybe it's the way the clunky clicks
Seem to echo the erratic beating of a heart?
Or how the jet black text runs
Cool and calm
Against the thick red blood
Seeping feverishly under the skin?
The uniform lines, the clear organised spacing
Estranged cousins to
Jumbled unclear thoughts and words.
Or maybe it's how permanent each typed letter is?
Like scars to the skin
Every one more alive than the last.
Methodical. Reliable.
Is it the inner uncertainty that we like
Or some untamed childish competition? -
To see which fire dies down first:
The love we feel or that of the machine
We confess it on.