Adding the Letters

The spaces are empty again,
vast and deserted,
and the letters pile up
against the door.
The J always
sticks to the Y
in awkward phrasing,
and I wonder
when I’ll run out.

Will I open my box one day
and find nothing but
… and ;?
Will it be like now,
when I stare eye-cicles
at the screen
in awe of your absence?

I knocked before and you froze,
dripping blood on my pages,
and suddenly broken pieces of you
were splashed on the broken pieces of me.
I couldn’t stop looking at
what it might mean
and I didn’t realize the door closed.

Now the letters lie dormant,
alone in their boxes
with all of the forgotten
punctuations of love
I slipped in your window.
Now they are silent,
all mixed up
and counting on numbers
instead of words,
years and days
and adding them up
hoping they end up equaling us.




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