The letter you wrote, it’s filled with you.
The letters of your eyes, the words of your lips.
I can feel your hands in these O’s and A’s,
the softness of your paper skin.
In this, did you ink out your soul,
you had dotted the I-love-you,
and crossed over to a tight embrace.
My eyes run again, and again,
Sprinting from line to line.
“This is you,” I exclaim, “you and only you.”
A lover I can tuck away into an envelope, and carry in my breast pocket,
A lover I can sit with at a table for one.
This, you have given me,
You, yourself, your whole.
Head to toe inscribed on thin paper leaves.
A gift it was, but bittersweet,
For a feeling so pure, I never have known,
but I cannot hold these words in my arms.