Endless envelopes of paper mail
But hands tremble at the presence of one unaddressed letter,
The card stock glances around, tantalizing to Whomever is caught by its wandering eyes,
As they gently reflect the suns bright glare

As if tempting each of us to open it,
A letter with no return address and no destination simply sits,
With it’s stainless skin—like freshly fabricated silk,
Pleading for a curious soul with whom to share its contents,

Its slight edges sit and yet intimidate
They must surely pack a sharp punch when provoked,
No one dares step to the unaddressed letter,
Fearing that one droplet of our unworthy burgundy blood may be enough to permanently stain the stainless