It lays bare layers upon layers of skeletons, the letter.
True, cursive is better, with those tails and hooks and slant
The message so much clearer, like graceful dancers
Doing somersaults with the wind. The words sparkle,
Blinding my truth and quenching my thirst.
It’s sex in the woods under the full moon,
The songbirds’ playfulness rendering the quiet
Louder and louder every minute.
That’s what it is reading your letter, your secrets.
So gorgeous, every word hurts and lingers.