Again, For Eppy

Written for a friend.

Black hair

falls

like

a needlepoint curtain

upon a contrasting stage.

 

Lips

parted, tasting

the pencil before putting it back down again.

 

Again

Again

An audible click

and the engine has started.

Words racing fingertips and calluses

from worn guitar strings

            and

      the pencil

      the paper

  rub together to create a fourtimetwostep that’ll entice visionaries

 

For centuries

 

She smiles.

So does the pencil,

left to linger again on her lips.

 

 

 

Author's Note

Wutchoo dink?