warm hands fingerprinting crisp glass.
oscillating breaths -
between clear and opaque.
a calming condensation.
an understanding of balance.

As I sit writing, my pencil sometimes lifts off the page.
Sometimes I think too much when writing.
When sentences rush to your head, all wanting to be written
When thoughts wage war in your mind, all wanting to be heard
It’s hard to accommodate for all
Words that desire to be tattooed on a page
And to be read by another’s lips
But none know the difficulty of pausing, having your pencil lift off the page because of a lack for words.