I.
Buried in the dust of a dozen dreams—
is the letter I never sent.
Patched up with jagged corners
/this love sits/
isolated,
oblivious to the stamp
/forever/
on its sleeve.

Trapped in discomfort and heavy—
with anticipation—
/her someday/
tears to two.

II.
Two sides.
Two lives.
Two fatalities forever
/conjoined/
by their respective truths.
Crystalline words scream from the
/void/
yet rarely do I stop and listen
to sounds of smothered speech breaking
between the senders.

Shells of script cut into our consciousness but
/buckle/
under the pressure of these colorless
cases.



III.
//post scriptum//
Sealed with a kiss and stored with a shrug,
the words I write await your return.