Your letter came
Did I not tell you?
It's not as if
I've housed it
(little treasure)
In the pockets of my jeans
Or as if I pull it out
All the time
Because then it'd surely
Have been aged by my eyes
Which dauntlessly would
Explore the vast landscapes of your words
And, in each one it meets,
See everything you do
And feel
Surely if this were true
It would've been softened
Into tissue paper
By edacious fingers
Who can't help themselves
Because they think they're
Touching you