Lead Kisses

My hand lay restlessly
against the white
at peace with the slate

My hand held the pencil
the only link between
my thoughts and the real world
the nerve that connects my
world, to everyone else’s world

My hand lay patiently
tapping the pencil,
drumming a prayer,
summoning a storm
a story perhaps to rain
from my mind in droplets
of words of letters
that wet the paper
with paint with lead
making the intangible …tangible

My fingers meddled
with the pencil, conjuring a spell
with this underrated wand
calling out the muses
with its a special beat
or so I thought
to wake the heart
to beat, to push a flow
of red blood cells
filled with ideas
that may create beats
on paper, to reach you heart
asking it to beat in return

My fingers pointed the pencil
to touch the slate, maybe
a simple tap can spark
odysseys and novels
stories and poetry
giving that neutral paper
a taste of what a lead kiss
can do, can start, can last
a kiss of lead on paper

My fingers glided
the pencil, in curves and T crosses
dotting i’s and ending lines
Capitalizing strong beginnings
and comma-ing run on’s

My fingers held that magic wand
sculpted the sharp lead head
as it painted the wordy masterpiece
that flowed from page to page

My fingers danced, living the moment
forgetting the logic
my words got thicker, as my pencil
got blunter, aching for another start
aching to sharpen a new beginning

But don’t you think
that  if I sharpen my pencil
would I shred a layer of
memories might fall with
the curl of every
pencil shaving?

It makes sense now
why every writer
keeps blunt pencils
and never sharpens
for every time they want
to relive that memory
they reach for that blunt pencil
and revive that fantasy
bring it back to reality
with just a lead touch
a lead kiss
on white paper
sitting there
so innocently
under my



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