The Letter

The Letter

No longer
do I sit at my desk
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
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

The whispered winds
scent of pine trees
the hands of the clock
draw sands of time
blur the image
left behind.



Art letters music Musings

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