enabler of my kleptomania, 

for that, you are kind. 

you 

glide

smooth against clean paper

steady chemical grind, 

a forever bond of union--

you are a blemish on its purity 

but

you

are welcomed, 

if you dry quickly

and do not touch my skin with your

external expressions

and your candid viscosity. 

you are an extension of my hand and my mind--

though you are not mine--

but when you know i’m finished with you

long before you trickle

out

inkless,

and make hollow etchings on that which you would once pigment

there will be a slight lull that rocks you earthbound

as you search for alternate signs of centrifuge 

my hand not long enough to halt you--

my mind not long enough to linger--

the rubber coating softens your fall and you

will still be scantly 

intact

for your new user.