Cynosure

8

My fingers trace
These fogged up glass panes
A plait
Or a braid
An artwork
Perhaps
Crafting a creation
Creating a craft
Eyes waiting to catch
A glimpse
Of the handiwork
It supposedly
Does

Lifeless fingers

Gaining life as they move

Slippery panes

Letting go of a noise

Tickling me

My insides

My ears

That cannot impede

Me from that my fingers do

The task
Now officially done
My eyes roam
Over my own masterpiece

I smile

At my fingers:

They mistook these panes for a paper

Carving out your name

Followed by a "Dear"

Like it was a letter addressed to you

Silly fingers...

***

©VioletEden