BETWEEN THE LINES

Lately, I have come across many stories of older people sharing or passing on a life time of love letters, which have been held dear and secret from their children or dear friends. A letter can hold a thousand words, express a thousand passions, or portray a thousand reasons to love in a single line. Have you saved a history of your loves in letters?

“To write a good love letter, you ought to begin without knowing what you mean to say, and to finish without knowing what you have written. Jean-Jacques Rousseau”

Between the Lines

I find
our night sleeps
lightly, my one curled
body denies me comfort;
my hand wanders
over the soft curves
of my pillow case.

I find
a surprise sharing my bed,
close to my cheek.
I trace it with my fingertips,
a rectangular shape,
intentionally placed,
among my white bed sheets.

I find
your tender face
and remember
the warmth of your skin
as your gentle breath
once filled me.

The intimacy of four corners
of firm paper, us two
divided by
the questions of the world;
quotes of harmony fill
my veins and slip into yours.
The pearled moon and
I are sharing you;

my nervous hand slips inside
my white case,
skims over goose feathers
and knows where you rest,
each fold of you,
each delicate line of you.
I pull you to
my kissed lips, and then
clasp you to my chest,
my hands cradle your
anticipated
penned paper; I hesitate.

What if I dream of
a love letter written to
my heart?
I hold you there in the dark
and breathe in your
parchment scent.

Your words pressed against
my skin,
my beating poetry, your
paper and my flesh intertwined,
like ivy growing,
winding itself
around the vine
next to it.

What might your sly
words say to me?
Slowly as I lay with the
illuminating dark,
I open you, and
my eyes are owned
by your will.

“I want to be next to you;
I am next to you.”