deep down in a silent winter forest
I even love you when you yell at me!
I am really good at love letters. In my head I write one to you every day. In my hand a tear gathers strength (sidenote, sorry: I am happy and grateful to be human and therefore able to cry. How else would I process all my feelings?) (additional note to myself, sorry, I will continue with my poem right after this, but this is important: should cry more, much more, definitely)
What has yet to happen? a kiss a touch
I wrote a love letter to you into my open palm tears washing over the syllables like waves on the beach I read it to the cat my voice shaking
the cat purring
I wrote a love letter
to you and never send it off
because every word I wrote
is out there anyway
is no word
is a beat of an open heart
what has yet to happen?
I mean, not …