Quill

A quivering quill
A brilliant plume
A brown, feathered edge
With grey speckled center
Like peppered cloth.

To tickle a chin
With a light, airy touch
A dark, straw-like bone
Leading down to the sharp
And cold metal pen.

Grasp the ink
Let it slip out
And bleed onto the page
And scratch the paper
Like the scrape
When you walk on cement.

And all the while
Feather fluttering
And metal twisting
The dark, black ink
Along the parchment.