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.
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.