Poems

Pencil

Does your heart tremble
when you look at my hands,
just like mine does
when I look at yours?

One around a pencil,
delicately holding it
as if it were made of glass,
the other on my knee.

I've never been more jealous
than of the yellow graphite
you keep twirling between
your fingers like it's weightless.

Does your soul quiver too,
when your hand touches mine,
just like mine does,
when my fingers brush yours?