11/03/2009

i want to write you pen and ink. i want the mail carrier and your mother’s hands and her voice as she tells you, ‘you’ve got a letter it’s on the table’ and then your hands your fingers under the corner that’s lifting slightly the plucking sound as glue gives it’s gift to you. my words folded there and no return address.

because we are a few days a week and inbox (1). we are weekdays filled with facebook messages and long nights.  early mornings.  hockey games and driving in the darkness.  your warm hand sandwiches my cold hand and your warm thigh. contraction of muscles. connection. collision.