Well maybe I’m always writing letters
Never bold enough till I realise it’s later,
Later, late, too late to tell you
Face to face you, with my blues

Coz you were always shining,
Colour and light, always gleaming
I could never descend with you around
I was always soaring, leaping in bounds.

So, when you left, my journal returned to me
My papers, NICE Clears, called out to me,
They yearned to invoke you here
To accuse you, to blame you, to rue you, to love you, to want you here.

So I’m writing letters,
Hoping they loosen these fetters
Goddamn sacrilegious unpoetic chains
That never bring love home, just cold rain.

When you get this,
I sealed the envelope with a kiss;
I still miss you, so be gentle
My heart’s your rental.


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