Somehow I can feel my patience wearing thin.
As the days pass me by where I lay waiting.
Exchanging letters has always been my thing,
but thinking how your voice may sound like has left me wanting.
Wanting to know what decibel it may register to.
How high its pitch is when you laugh.
Or how low will it go when you're being rough.
Will it sound like clinking glasses when you giggle.
Or like a soft running stream when you whisper.
All these I have yet to know
Until I've gathered the courage to give you a call

Words are all I have
When things are too heavy to grab
And I have to let them go
Words that make the world move slow
or spin faster than mercury as it circles the sun
Group of letters that could be fun
As I make those horrible puns
Words that birth my thoughts into the world
When my art doesn't want to push forth
A bunch of syllables and sounds
that are my ideas, and my feelings
rising up from the ground.
May these words tell you,
That knowing you, I am pretty proud.