Letters for Loose Handshakes and Fumbled Formalities

Dear Stranger,

My hand grasps yours confidently,

knuckles molded to your foreign form,

you do not know how they shake.

Tremble.

You are not accustomed to bitten nails,

which rather, should be bitten tongues,

such words

carnivorous

still ripping conquered flesh,

which such sentences had once depended upon.

The lethal mastication

 

 

Dear Stranger,

Sometimes I mean it.

sometimes I strategize my syntax,

as if commas could construct the stronger

shell

of a once feeble body,

the only thing I'll allow you

to touch.

 

Dear Stranger,

forgive me, when I fear I have no

foundation,

my unlaced shoes present dishonesty,

and there are days when I can feel a hollowness in my

bones.

 

Dear Stranger,

I will admit I often prefer it this way.

 

My Dear Stranger,

There will be days, however,

I dance on my toes

and lips do not quiver,

silhouettes of yesterdays

germinate

on the tips of tongues.

Pens paint ink upon papers

vowels as visuals

the world is

vibrant.

 

Dear Stranger,

I will admit I often prefer it this way.

 
 
 
 
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