Mail Box

It’s only a matter
of time before
I get to you. Before

I wrap you
inside my lyric
web where rainwater runs

salty before
sweet. Where praying
mantis myths break

apart as cleanly
as last century love
letters written on

perforated sheets—
unruled. Unruly
and close, another summer

night could go by
without stating
the obvious out loud

to a full moon—more low
hanging fruit
to resist. They say

it’s like riding
a bicycle. Mine has
had no air

in the tires
for a decade.
I keep it

U-locked in
the cellar just in case.
Only a matter

of time. I keep
thieves off the trail
that leads to the real

jewels, booty, swag.

What is there
left to protect?
Only a matter

of time
and distance. I am

the East Coast
Midwestern girl
who tears herself

in two
waiting for you

============ no ===
more ==== black ============== out

Erasure—the last two
lines are not ready.
I’m not ready

to give them—
myself—you—away.

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