Label me the apostrophe.
Providing union prophecies
and communion plays
to quench your exotic fixations
of fidelity.
Coaxing your child-caliber -
out
through coated girth and doubt.
Naming off syllables of sitcoms
till re-runs act as lungs -
breathing mediocrity as genius
and sewing smiles securely to your lips.

Undoubtedly, the quill tip sips
the prayers you pray for me
because no man's sonnet reeks or bleeds
such as this nomad's need.

Ignorantly, my bliss poises your beauty
and admits that I -
am your sole apostrophe.