Pencil

I whisper how much I'd like to hold you

as if these words have never carried dread.

As if the simple thought of them

isn't admitting a thousand little musings.

Like how I see you in the stars and water,

and how I'm a wreck with guilt that my hands are just that;

just hands.

You have always deserved so much more

than thinly veiled confessions,

these desperate little notes,

written only with these hands,

written only on paper,

written only in pencil.