The Letter
No longer
do I sit at my desk
ponder
what he is thinking of me.
The coffee cold
I put away the linen paper
with gold border
just my initials
scrawled at the bottom.
He will know
who I am
yet I search
for the girl inside,
my desires for a man
I cannot have.
I am
nothing
but the stars
in his eyes
the ocean of my heart.
Does she know
my secret
as I sweep past her
in the kitchen
where we meet?
He sees me
and only I
can wish
to see him
again.
The whispered winds
scent of pine trees
the hands of the clock
draw sands of time
blur the image
left behind.
seasons: a poetic journey 