sepialetter

You visited last night
In my head
When I slept
You don’t very often
Thankfully
You kept a timid distance
Surprisingly
Held out a pile of notes
Cautiously
Written in sepia
Stained
Copperplate ink script
Ancient
Fluid wrinkled paper
Edges soft and rounded
Smelling of salty vanilla
Damp
I didn’t take them
Stayed well back
Warily
And wondered:

Is this a map for orientation?
Are you offering an explanation?
Or do you seek my salvation?

 

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