Unsealed

Each day's vetiver-woody paen to the night

Deepens memories of an unshared sweet delight

And yet, 

Not all smooth silken skins melt into each other

Nor do all names stamp a mole for the tither

But still 

Plates, knifes, edges, corners, clouds without fetters,

Scars linger longer than wounds in my unsealed letters

You see

Stars crush their dust on my dreamy lashes 

And songs pour out of life's grey ashes 

They are

Coffee mugs, chocolate cookies and sweet adieu 

Tiny mustard sprouts, those hours stolen for you 

With them

I will buy a pound full of television-life again

And sleep in the arms of endless ache, sweet pain

Who knows

When clouds pour out their heart in a cold white land

You will open my unwritten letters, dear friend