letters

I would say hello, but I never see you . I would write you, but I don’t know who you are. Just a direction my heart is pointing. Just a story to fill in the blanks as the night drags on. It’s always something with me. Missing someone special, missing no one in particular, just the empty ever after. The particular fittings of the form. A few short words to solve the mystery. A few swift confessions to bury the bone. The measure and the matter. The distance that insists.

I am the empty in the gesture. I am the left over ghost. The wind that fills some tattered intention. The animate bags creeping along the curb. The flag unfolds in the gust not the symbols. A habit of rituals bound to the creature. The bug nee feature of the self.

I love you though I do not know you. I love you as I profane the name. The story that isn’t a story, a life that’s all characters, no plot. They sell you art, and they sell you romance. They never tell you how to sell yourself. Fixed to bricks and fictions. Set like clockwork to flaw and flow, you gather the letters left. I love you here and now, whatever the words may mean.