hopeless scrawls on dogeared paper
holding on to my paper love
folded and unfolded
again and again
the words you sent me
mean nothing now
but oh so splendid
when they did
the worn folds
and turned edges
fluffed and whiskered
simple words on a note
held for many years
and what you wrote
lay in my hands
a thousand silent
times, and perhaps
a thousand many more.