If the angel of the girl I once was didn't
fly so far away from where I am, I would
stick Forever Stamps on a million notes,
hold them together with a broken pinky
swear and send them to her like a bundle
of weary promises. I would instruct her
to clutch them against her fluttering chest
for a moment or two, then scatter them like
breadcrumbs leading home.

I would send her the night you showed up
drunk and giggled your way into my bedroom,
where you collapsed on the chair in the corner
that was covered in the silhouettes of song-birds.

I would send her how it felt when you hugged me
onto you lap, my thighs squishing on the top
of yours. Our laughter melded with the Joni Mitchell
lullaby humming on the small side table.

I would send her how we looked, your nose brushing
mine and the silly smiles that made kissing impossible.
We couldn't have looked pretty, with your wide waist and
my blemished skin but I'm sure we looked lovely--in-love.

I would send her the taste of your tongue after you
whispered in my ear with hot, sweet breath, "I'm happy,
more than I have ever been before." I believed those
tickles of your thoughts, because I was too.

But most importantly, I would make sure to send her
a final note that included the creak of my bed as you
sat up and the sound of your soft footsteps padding
towards the for as you left my lying there.