Guilt leaks from a luminated pen–
this absence has stained us.
I know you held me fondly once,
even through a furrowed brow,
even through tinted windows
where we sat, divorced,
as dawn stretched
so rain could drop
between our lashes–
nothing feels quite like butterfly kisses…
So I’ll send one, despite the distance.
Please await a letter, it should come
with every spring and summer,
printed by my active love
and signed, her chaotic flutter.