I fall in love

I fall in love
a little
each time I put
pen to paper
fingers to keys
clicks in stillness or
whispers of
imagined ink
traces of lead
that have always
been graphite

I fall in love
with the words
that might coat your
tongue like honey
like a golden sun drenched
something
maybe they’ll be sharp
as a tack
as a blade
as a reminder
there’s still no
lavender word for lynch

I fall in love
with the first draft
like it’s a first date
perhaps this
will be the time
this will be the place
this will be the verse
that I still love after the second draft

Dea Sweeney Hunsicker has orbited Boston, Massachusetts most of her life. Attempting to accurately communicate the experience of raising a child with a complex medical history inspires much of her current poetry.