i don't know

could it be love
so tender to touch
when threatened as such
pens get too sharp
cutting through the dark
to be awakened by a kiss
so lovingly as the whispers
into the midst of the night

would i sit in a corner
and mumble through
waiting for you
would i kiss my fingertips
thinking of the misteps
i always do; i don't know
but i could smile again
too much fuel for my pen