love letters in my mind
are all for you, i find.

i don't mail them or tweet them:
quite like secrets, i treat them.

i push them into pink envelopes
patterned with blue hearts and empty hopes.

pages and pages of length comes easy
(but the same for work would make me queasy).

what would we do, if we were lovers -
kiss, flirt and give each other flowers?

true, while i don't care for you -
in my mind, i write to you.

i wonder if you know
that i write to you so.


(this came out of a bet with A who wanted me to write something rhyming "flowers" and "lovers".)

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