"The Pen Between Her Fingers"
The Student:
Her fingers held the pen
like it wasn't just a tool
but a weapon carved from marble
quiet, elegant,
and far too dangerous for someone like me.
She didn't even look my way today,
but somehow the air in the room curved around her.
Every movement I made felt
like it needed her silent permission.
The way she leaned, wrote,
bit the side of her lip once
I watched it like scripture
written in a language no one else believed.
She said my name when calling attendance.
Just once.
But it echoed
in the softest part of my abdomen
and stayed there the rest of the lecture.
I took too many notes.
None of them useful.
All of them hers.
She walked by me on her way out.
Her shoulder brushed mine
or did I imagine it?
A glance from her green eyes,
fleeting
like the sun through stained glass.
But it burned.
I'm nothing.
Just a student with shaking hands.
But tonight, I'll dream of her again
not her body,
not yet,
but the way her voice feels
like heat sliding down my throat.
If she ever looks at me for real,
I don't think I'll survive it.