neither of these hands will do

truth be told. i can't do this.
i start from the right, the hidden side, and scratch the paper slowly arching the line towards your silent breath.
but i start again.
so i begin with the left, where little light contrasts ruby with white, soft skin. but then i realize that it's all too fictitious, it does not conform to what i have seen.

the top–way too hard. the pencil stops the minute i lay it down and i sway further away with every inch of graphite. you float every word; you say is luck, repetition and newness.

it leaves me
with the bottom. but neither of these hands will do.
but all i can do is wait for a time when i'll be close enough to mimic it with my lips.

written for Z.D.