Verse-shorts-poetry

I dust off this desk
Lean in, my hands flat
aware of the depressions
in the leather surface
where it has disintegrated
beneath elbows and fists
and the feet of typewriters.
It has soaked up the fears,
the desperation, the joy,
the passions, the sweat
the oils of so many fingers.
Now, I add mine
wish for this expanse
to take my hopes
far beyond its four corners,
to create infinitely more
such table tops
stained with the drive
to be heard.

-Sage Bray Varon