When I left I lost letters. I felt like a broken type writer attempting to speak our past in tongues removed.

Fumbling frequencies across a country too nice. Wondering about a miracle  I could never speak. Throwing tantrums with broken teeth from Everytime I've beat myself for speaking out of turn.

Write me again. A new book pressed into the ridges of your open heart. I want to be written in hieroglyphics. Take a moment and decipher the importance of things we have not spoke. Bleeding hearts dripping ink of memories we made in bedrooms.

The bed looked like octopus ink. Dark and shadowy full of the waste of our day. Making me feel alive again in the moment our eyes collided.