The Letter

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.

 

 

Art letters music Musings

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