Letters

Letters

No one has ever written me a love letter

Standing on the springboard of pity

I dive off and eschew this cotton candy pseudo sympathy

For reality’s curl to never expect anything in return

For these days charging out like credit card debt

Owed to myself and I see that interest owed column

Like a spit on an island jutting out in an irregular arrangement

To my solitude out here in this ocean, like a peninsula I will never walk upon

Noticing the disparity between what I have to give

To this world and what I have received in emotional discourse

Like a stone bottomed see saw planted with roots at its base

And a bean stalk rising from the opposing end

Fueled by this vantage point of winding tendrils of feeder systems

Evolved to draw out the deepest quarters of a human core

To tunnel upward and out into and look the devil in his sockets

With this blind mole of an engine churning letters in an assembly line of

Poetic resonance on tap of all these feelings that

Have wandering for a home and project a pyramid to ultimately entomb

Figuring a final resting place for these lyrics is buried within my own ear drums

In a percussion of never knowing an audience that would requite

Such sentiments in a scripted structure of pages to extend her hands

To pen and paper or tap a keyboard without dabble, but passionate

Letters from her own yearnings to share that which can no longer be held in

To grant this to me a keepsake that all my outreach could temper a potential intimidation

In scripture for her to profess something undeniably real for me

Knowing it is not a comparison but a singular rarity that

I could not possibly be disappointed with

So if you have it in you to give me this gift without my prompting

Then I would be forever grateful for you to see what I have continually offered

And just once, just once to taste that gall that it would imbue to hope

For a semblance of the same in return