an affair long ago…

I trace the indentations of your pen as I read my address so familiar but here made so special. I brush it along my lips, not kissing, not smelling but somehow inhaling the essence of you. I note the measured precision with which you’ve attached the stamp.

I rip, carefully. Not wanting to ruin but an urgent need for this contact, to read your words.

Prising the gummed ‘V’ wetted by your tongue.

I remember.
And then I’m mourning your abscence.
The much anticipated letter only serving to heighten the fact you’re not here.

Will never be here with me.


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