Write to Him

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I wish I could write him a letter
unfold my sheets, the creases
and write.
Wish I could pen more than
a monologue, my internal
dialogue of all the words
he can’t see.
Wish I could hold my chest
to the light, so the reading
would be smoother,
discharged from the stammer
in my cursive, light curls
of ups and downs and loops
removed and survived.
I wish I could dry my palms
pricked with nerves shaking
perspiring revelation of words
I don’t know how to reveal.
Wish I could supersize the grin
that creeps at his mention
the black blush buried
beneath my blanket of cocoa.
Wish I could amplify the letters
sung by the choir of strings
pulled at my very centre.
How I wish I could pen
him a letter, but there’s
none greater than the two
Divinely penned, ink dried
‘Be’ and he was, and he is.
Maybe one day I’ll write him
a postcard, with more
than four letters to say more
than a fumbling of words.
Maybe one day I’ll write.

© LaYinka Sanni, May 2014.

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