lil-crizzy

The pen turns over in her hand, Embraced in the place between her thumb and index finger. Back and forwards. Smooth over dry skin. And her eyes follow And fascinate With the light shining off the gray textures. The lettering On it's skin. Encasing The black liquid Hiding inside; Until it is called upon To make love to white pages, And become one with her hand. And in a room full of noise, bad lighting and the monotonous sound of equations explained a hundred times over, The pen looks oddly beautiful to her, Almost like a part of her. Or a part of a love once lost. (or never found) Residing there in the valley between finger