topography: of a letter

topography: of a letter

this paper warmed by your hand
inked with your mind,
without a backspace in sight
will sit in my pocket
until the next one.
see this bump, a breach
of papyrus where your
hand slipped, or maybe
the pen deceived you
into thinking she would stay
sweet to the end of the line––
i love that bump, proof
of our humanity.
this little stain here,
on the northwest corner
of the page, what
was that?
water or wine or
tears? your words bleed
a little, curve around it,
petals opening
to the sun.
it smells like you,
leaves and haircut grass,
perfumed distance.
My hand pauses
over the page–– what to
say in the face of that beauty?
How to convey love and
hope and missing
but understanding
in a few words?
I ask about the weather.

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