I wrote this on paper,
or convinced myself I did.

persuaded myself that I felt the glide of ink
staining smooth, cold paper,
instead of keys that clack and feel overly
familiar, like a chair that sags
just a bit too much.

I don't want familiarity,
I want a stranger
who will cause that thrill
of someone to impress.
I want scrawling writing like
spiders' legs,
and the irrevocability of mistakes,
laid out for the world to see.

as I watch the paper
and the paper watches me,
with the pen poised between,
like a dancer raised
on arched feet,
I am waiting.

for the first word
is like the first time
two people come together,
and I think,

this must be how it feels
to wait for a lover.