Know not the turn of my cheek
The strength of my chest
Or the way in which my mattress rests
Just beneath the sill
Yet in front of the envelope which waits for you

Though you ought to know
That every line and every word
Was meant to be
In broken verse
Just as it it

That way one day
Only you could find me there within
And surpass the number set before
Thirty-two

For I am my own
And none of her names
Though in idealism
Perhaps a bit, one and the same

And should you never arrive by me
Then the envelope as directed will be
Delivered to you

So worry not
But hopefully it will not come to that
And that I will live to see your face
As you learn such of things

Like the envelope without a name