She’d have softer eyes
sitting in a heart-shaped face,
hair messily framing her face,
just enough to keep the fears
tucked in the shadows of her curls.
She holds her pen lightly,
letting the ink find its place
on her pages effortlessly,
as if her body was merely
the instrument for the muses.
There are no scribbles
leading to hard-to-reach places,
like the margins or post-it notes.
The penmanship is smooth,
and perfectly curved, consistent.
Her words taste like coffee.
Her sighs take in the aroma
she imagines coming from the pages.
Her cuppa still sitting on the table,
while her tumbler of earl grey
hides in her bag.
The Perfect Writer (?) by Cheyenne Alexandria Phillips is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.