Delivered, not read:
my best words left unsaid.
I chose them just for you
hand-picked them,
turned each one over
to inspect with a secret smile
as I thought of you
inspecting them too.
Was such a fine letter
ever written for you?

I threw caution to the wind
when I dropped my words
in your letter box
and waited patiently
for them to find you.

Then you
with your casual apathy
and your cool disregard
dropped steele-blue eyes
on the unopened envelope
and did not break the seal
or think of it twice.

To this day
it must still be on your coffee table
a piece of rubble
beneath piles of junk mail
a scrap paper
upon which you scribble notes
beneath the ashtray
that collects your used butts.

You never did care
for sentimental things
and I never knew
I was one of them.