-- Pen that Smells like Ink

This is Part IV of a series. See Parts I, II, III, V, & VI. 

I’ve always liked ballet

            Bars as straight as lasers

                        A backbone

                                    And the weaving

                        In and out

            Out and about

It reminds me

            Of paper, college ruled

                        Lines not dark enough to overpower

                                    Crisp, clean, waiting

                                                For weaving. For a dance

 Between lovers, unrequited

                        I get a high, a thrill of waiting

            At the tip of a rollercoaster

                        Have you followed the feet of a dancer?

                                    Tracing ribbons into infinity

                                                Like so, everyday.

                                                            Butter on a heated skillet

                                                                        Tracing letters on a lover’s back

                                                                                    Waft of pungence

 Of dusty attics, yellowed pages,

 Leather, detergent, incense. 
 Weaving through my ballet bars.

                                    Evidence of my love.

                                               

--Pen that smells like ink