If I were a letter

I could have years to think upon losing you,

or only one mind, and morning

to get this letter through.

No pen could spell out those lonesome stars;

nor color, paint the hell

in a sunrise without you near.

Open me up.

Tell me your eyes, solely yours

breathe poetry from our silent stare.

Open me up.

Please call, what you read

beautiful.

Let this lump inside my throat, be

the Dear Rebekah;

my sweaty palms, and patient kiss

the forever, yours.