New Mail

The sealed envelope lies
on the table. A coffee cup

rests on the thin white paper.
Long and neat, crisp

for the most part, excluding
the brown ringed stains,

but almost the way it was
when it came through the slot,

dropping to the floor
with other mail, making

the dog bark.
I see your handwriting

on the front, how hard
you wrote. I see the stamp

you pressed to the right hand
corner with your thumb.

It looks so official,
although i can almost smell

your perfume on the paper, or
so I imagine. I don't open it.

I like to keep things the way
they are. Waiting for more mail

from you. Anticipating
good things. I like to be

optimistic about love
despite the cold hard truth.