I guess I have a little bit more to say
Or maybe it just feels good
To write to you in this way.

I hope you don't mind
Wrapping up envelopes with feathers
Or a hint of red rose
Smelling like new.

Because that's the thing about poets
That's the thing about being with an artist
We immortalize our experiences, our wounds
And those that leave a little bit of light
In the night we grow accustomed
To filling the holes within us
Up with.

I think of the line of your jaw
And the way your hair softly frames it
Or the way you would point things out to me
In that silly dramatic way
Your voice repeating itself when you grow with passion
Or nerves.

It's been a month I chime into a void
Standing up against a wall, I don't move
Other than to dance
Watching you go and go and go
Drunken whiskey invisibility cloaks
Don't mean much
To me and my scary friends.

I tried to interpret your response
The women in the south investigate
Me and the way I've turned inside out
Mama and Papa don't choose each other
And we schedule drinks
To try and sort things out
In some way.

I know you work hard
I know you know that I work hard
I didn't mean to become your other woman
The neon lights and frothy thoughts
We twirled within them well.

No more suffering
Let's be gentle.