When the mail truck rolls up,
they open their mouths hungrily,
gagging on circulars, bills and requests for donations.
they are thirsting for a handwritten postcard from Paris,
or a lengthy handwritten letter from someone they
love,
to love is to write
to write is to love.
I found a lost fountain pen tonight
and will write someone I love in the morning
It may be you,
It could be you if you had a different
address from your wife.
you know who you are.
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