Postage.
I wondered if you could read
between lines, the spaces that need
no explaining for themselves?
And did you accidentally misplace,
Those freckles on your face,
Or did the sun catch them in her rays?
Or what of those words that meant,
the questions asked and sent,
before a letter was ever born?
Still there must be some way through
When hands were shaped anew,
To not feel anything but the touch
Of noses against noses,
And the rest of the world in small doses.
