Reading Love Letters

Image: 'Genesis' - Skye Rutkowski

Bethany Belkowski

Uncommon women don’t ask

to taste wild flowers wilted

in the yard. Past their bloom,

petals crumble easily

on wet tongues. Your name hangs

on postscripts I tear

from each page. Ink sticks

to my lips –sweet punctuation.

Yet I fall to your monochrome. Pages

worn with wrinkles mimic the folds

thoughts seared to your brow. Now splayed,

I smooth your edges. With wandering hands,

I let fine fingers curl round your cursive,

tracing careful lettering with naked

nails. Chipped and scattered I surrender

to your static embrace.

Here I am again,

in electric haze. I read to hear your voice

mutilated again by my own. Decadent hands

searching, I refold the pages, whispering

your name. How could I celebrate

divinity without sound? An echo of a soul

creased wet with tears

and dried with sighs.