|
|
|
You have no intention
of letting me know,
but what you don't mention
is clear in your tone.
I hear the bloody drudges
in the inkblots on the page,
and in the wet smudges
from a tearful and sweaty rage.
Still, you assure me you're safe,
but faith might stray in this dirty heave.
My throat chokes on the knot and the chafe,
as I write for you to leave.
I have not slept since your first letter,
won't breathe until the next has arrived,
and I shall not sleep until the fetter
of the distance between us is deprived.
So I'll write to you with my love
to help pass the time,
kissing the dry parchment or wet ink thereof,
and hope you'll understand the blots and the grime.
|
