A letter to my favourite poet
(i) I taste your words on my lips
I type out this letter as an apology
for this world not being enough poetry for you.
(ii) I think you’re the kind
who’d bring a knife to a gun fight,
whisper words in a rock concert,
sip wine on a Sunday morning,
reading out the same article on the jewel heist
over and over and over again,
a total of 37 times.
(iii) I’m sorry Sunday mornings
are never long enough for you,
I wish I could taste Sunday mornings like you do.
(iv) You’re the song in my one song playlist
that I play on Tuesday nights
that feel like Friday evenings.
I wish I were a poet.
(v) I wish you did not have to apologise
for all the words you’re yet to write.
(vi) You’re poetry
(vii) I wish you’d think so too.
(viii) thank you for being the difference
between roses and lilies.
I wasn’t ever much for roses anyway.
(ix) you’re my favourite unwritten book,
that I wish I could read,
over and over and over again,
on a Sunday night,
at 11:53 pm,
as you whisper my name underwater,
and the constellations shout back,
calling you home.
(x) I wish there were more of you,
and more of your poetry today.
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_a letter to my favourite poet.
//unlearning words.
15/10/18
emmess.
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