I wrote you a letter, Love.

I wrote about my French classes

And library passes.

I wrote about cold mornings I awoke

In the absence of the words you spoke.

I wrote about how I left hom

To dwell the winding streets of Rome,

And enclosed a picture of myself

To hoard with others on your shelf.

 

This morning I mailed a letter,

Went back without a reflection

And kissed the mirror better.