A letter to my favourite poet

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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.

_a letter to my favourite poet.

//unlearning words.



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