A letter to a pen friend

Your name in my pen is all that spells love,
Yet in that pain could be found a dodging dove.

In my pen there might be war-backing words,
But not a blood-letting demon with swords.

I write then you write, you write then I write;
I writhe over culture that spills the spite.

The postmark has invited forgiveness,
Over such pregnancy of barrenness.

And patient Pascal recommends the wait,
Over matters of word-full heavy weight.

A thoughtful reply is the retainer
Of an advocate for a good dinner.

Then the first chance for the meeting faces,
Declares rights to deserving embraces.

If such were to fall in the space between us,
Then let us embrace as if on a love cross.