Crayon
Sharp smell of wax,
rising up from where
my closed hand moves
faster and faster,
across a sea of white,
darting here and there
adding color to the blankness,
of this world.
Vividly I recall
apples bursting with sweet scent,
green like the slashes of color on paper.
And the intermix of purple,
like the round, juicy sharpness of grapes
fresh from the vine.
The colors I blend,
simply smooth
as the surface of the table
I sit at,
inhaling the sweet scent of wax.
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