I asked someone that question today and he looked at me like I had just sprouted a second head. 'When was the last time you wrote or received a letter?', he paused and said 'd'you know I cannot actually remember'. While on the train, I started thinking about how we don't write anymore. I had a pen pal once, I remember how I'd check the post every friday, barely able to contain my excitement because I knew a letter would be coming for me! So I was inspired to write this poem real quick, here it goes;
I want you to write to me,
Paper, pen or pencil
No eraser
Write me
Crossed out intentions
Rewritten to hide the fact you care more than you should
‘I was thinking, no wondering, maybe we could......’..
Tell me mundane things about your day, how your boss hates you
All 6’4 inches
Ask me how or if I think of you
‘I don’t normally do this, I mean this is not my thing'
I’ll secretly cherish how much your hand gives away’
My urban Casanova
'I really wanted to make you do that thing again
Your head thrown back, my toes curled because
I know i did it.'
On these pages, you’ll hold my hand
All caution thrown to the wind
You’ll disregard stares and engage in P.D.A
Bahia does seem too far in between these lines
Here you’ll wander outside margin with little thought
No secret between us, you, me and this sheet of A4
Do write me,
Dare me to tell you how I really feel
Remind me how much I say to you
When I think you are too distracted
To remember
‘My feet might be drained but my head always
Retains enough blood’
Tell me you’re not sure about so much
But you’re willing to go with my flow
‘if that is what you want a day at a time
Is fine I suppose.
It's been a while and I am rather rusty but hey, my muse has not deserted, I am grateful for that.
