I started this note
somewhere in the middle
of Chesapeake Bay…staggering
upper deck on a ferry named Fantasy,
floating towards Foreverville,
your arms surrounding me
like a memory
My chestnut hair was wildly dispersed,
September chill on sky-mist stationary,
sticky tongue on the edge at the
crease of your envelope,
tendrils of curls crossing the t’s,
dotting the eyes…
When you set yourself to reading,
be apprised that the ink is still wet;
the paper is thin as lingerie lace,
and because you are beautiful,
the words have a transparent sheen
wherefore you needn’t rush,
as you never do,
to pluck the lovely letters.
They will fall away
like leaves in October,
and the passages will open
warm and inviting,
with every hidden meaning
