You write like time doesn’t move too fast
Folded corners in words that last
A little vague, but I read it clear
You speak in space, and I still hear
Postcard intentions, mailed too late
But somehow still the perfect state
You don’t rush, just send and wait
I find your meaning in that weight
No return address, but I reply
With lines between a casual “hi”
You don’t write love, but you suggest
Every dot, a quiet protest
You let the ink do all the flirt
And I unfold each subtle word