The Letter

There’s a letter for you on your pillow
that one where, with glimmering eyes
and shimmering hair
you laid beside me
With ragged breath and mercurial beat
you maintained a wanton grace
that would be obscene in another
The letter lies light, white
against my soft French linen
a single petal against rain washed sand
There are words there, mine but still yours
no railing against the dark, just soft downy symbols
of some forgotten language
no excuses, but maybe some singular concession
to the vagaries of merciless providence
A keepsake if you will, or
an admonition of remorse
You’ll find it there, nestled between gifts ungiven and
the departing spirits of better days
This bequest of words perhaps no boon or
blessing, but benevolent in essence and intent
So, read now, those thoughts and sorrows
those concluding statements and protestations
of cherished heart and enshrined affection
read and be free

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