Carbon Copy Heart

It's always called a new start, writing on a carbon copy of my heart.

He may trace the path from
When the ink was new,
When there was room to breathe
amidst the wet blue

Ill respond politely, stifling
every laugh or wince,
As if I haven't read this line
Or had a thought since!

I'll say it's too wordy when in fact I am bored.
After the salutations and addressed temptations, I could toss it in the floor.

If he's efficient with his allotted space, awing me with a new creation,
 the page will still show its scars as his pen leaves its marks of careful navigation.

It might look like a cluster, so the key is distraction;
I'll try to look for more room if he can be pleased with his fraction.