This nub on my right middle finger
Raised and thick
Remembers where the pen meets it
Presses against it like a lover
Rough and fervent
Smooth, cold plastic against warm, yielding flesh

Callous formed in love
Affair of words
Of self-expression
Of creation
Broadened over years

She grows smaller from neglect
And pen, lonely, lies in wait
Replaced by keyboard

She calls out
“I miss you!”
“Reach for me,” he cries.

“Click, clickety click,” ten fingers respond.

5 Comments on “Star-crossed

  1. I like this poem. My “nub” has grown smaller too, but I still use a pen quite often. Please check out my blog, “Jewel Ammons”.

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