I write letters to you.
Letters I’ll never post,
Letters I’ll read and reread
and imagine your replies to.
Should I have used the bird stamps?
Or the blue ones with the airplanes?
Would you be home when the postman got there?
Where would you tear the envelope?
Would you make a clean cut
Or a messy one?
I thought of a paper knife.
Do you put them away in a book after you’ve read them?
Do you sit down to think what paper you’ll use,
what color of ink,
what pen you’ll write with?
Will you write to me tomorrow?
I bought new envelopes.
Could you find the kiss I tucked away
between paragraphs of banter?
Did you smile when you found it?
Would you send me one in your reply?
I’m running out of paper.